There are ponds where there hadn’t been before, rivers are overflowing and there’s mud everywhere. It’s as if we moved to the wetlands of Florida without the warm temperatures. I’m over it.
Lucky for us, the weather on that Monday was quite lovely. The sun shone intermittently and the wind, while brisk, was not blustery. Did I mention that the wind at these freaking meets has been horrible? Yes, it really has.
Back to the meet.
It was held in Hicksville, a small town (though bigger than our town) about twenty minutes south of us. The track in this town is not at the school. It’s across town, actually. It’s in what they call the ‘athletic fields’. The football field is there as well as several baseball diamonds. #foreshadowing
Parking was awful that day. There were at least two baseball games going on. The track meet was an invitational, so there were at least six teams there along with all the attending parents and grandparents. There was also a soccer game being played somewhere among the fields.
And what the actual hell, Ohio drivers? Why must you all park like you’re driving a $100,000 car? You can’t be bothered to actually park close enough to the car next to you so as to NOT take up two space each?
Lucky for me (ha!) I work at a place with the narrowest parking spots in the tri-state area. So too bad for you, but I’ve become an excellent parker. Not to brag, but I can wedge my Chevy Equinox into the tightest space imaginable and do it in one try.
So my mom and I arrived at the meet, we found the last parking spot left by the obnoxious Ohio drivers and their horrendous parking abilities.
We paid our $5 to get in and made our way to the high jump, which, wheee, was close to the port-o-pots I needed to use because I have a bladder of a field mouse. Port-o-Pots are NASTY.
While I was in there, I heard them announce the results of the girls’ high jump?
What? We were maybe ten minutes late, who were the girls already done with the high jump?
Apparently, they’d started a half hour earlier than I’d thought they were starting. Huh.
Alyssa tied for second place, by the way. Go her!! Wish I’d seen it.
We left the high jump and headed to the bleachers beneath which Alyssa and her teammates had placed their bags. Why they feel the need to hunker down beneath the bleachers like a bunch of hoodlums at every single meet is beyond me. I do not claim to understand the minds of today’s teenagers. Let’s face it, I’m old.
Alyssa came out and told us she’d cleared 4’6” again, which was awesome. It’s her current record for this year. She was quite proud of herself, as she should have been. I was proud of her too.
She didn’t end up running in any races, so, my mom and I paid $5 each to watch her sit on a grassy knoll across the track from us. That was great fun.
We finally decided we’d had enough of the brisk wind, the shouts of other parents nearby and the non-visits from our favorite high school athlete, so my mom and I headed back to my car to go home.
As we approached my car, the lady in the car next to mine asked me if my car was mine.
Uh-oh, I thought. Did she think that since I’d had to park a little close to her vehicle that I’d dinged her door? I hadn’t but I didn’t know if she knew that.
I told her that it was indeed my car.
She pointed to it and said, “It was hit by a baseball.” Then she pointed to a dude and his dog. The dude was holding a baseball. He said he was getting it for is dog.
Oh.
Okay, then.
Apparently the ball the dude was holding was the ball that had hit my car. I glanced at my car from the front and didn’t see any damage. I moved toward the driver’s side door and still didn’t see any dents. Thankfully, I didn’t see any broken windows.
The lady in the neighboring car pointed to my drivers’ sideview mirror.
Ahh, there it was. The fixture itself wasn’t broken but the mirror that sits in the fixture was shattered.
That was a hell of a hit from the baseball diamond. Alas, poor kid, it was definitely a foul ball.
By this point, the dude with the dog had absconded with the baseball that had hit my car. I wondered why he’d want a ball that probably had glass shards in it for his dog. Weirdo.
I called Tom to see if I needed something from the baseball people in case we had to make an insurance claim. He said they’d probably believe us that a ball hit the mirror.
I place the mirror, which was hanging on by a couple of wires, gently back into the fixture and started for home.
I crawled over speedbumps and it held all the way through town.
Alas, the first time a truck passed me going the other direction, the blast of wind caused the mirror to fall out of the casing, it dangled at a lovely angle that allowed me to see myself in profile the rest of the way home. That was a special kind of torture.
By the time I got home, Tom had already ordered a replacement mirror off eBay for $37.90. He’s pretty sure he can change it out himself.
I do know that it could have been so much worse. It could have been the back window or even the sun roof. So…while it sucks, I’m not losing any sleep over a broken side view mirror.
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