So I’m sitting in the parking lot of Home Depot. You’ve been there. Tell the truth, you’ve done exactly the same thing.
No, I’m not one of the day-laborers you see in the lot in the mornings, hoping for work. Can you image a day-laborer who’s physically intolerant to chemicals and construction materials? I’d be standing there forever!
No, I’m in the parking lot because Home Depot tries to kill me when I go inside.
If we have important purchase decisions to make, for which my input is needed (“Yeah, that’s good!” is usually my hurried response so I can run out) like choosing floor tiles, lighting or fan fixtures, I’ll go in and suffer the consequences. But those times are few and far between, thankfully.
Otherwise, if I even go, you’ll find me in the parking lot waiting. That’s where I was a few days ago, when it started getting hot in the car. So I got out of the car and stood under the tree watching the crows pick up sticks to make tools out of them, for what I don’t know. Everyone at Home Depot seems to be industrious.
A guy in a van drives by me slowly, looking (leering?) at me. I don’t know if he thinks I am looking for work, and if he does… what kind of work? Whatever!
Then a man comes out of the store to his truck two spaces over from me and pulls his purchase out of a bag. I hear an aerosol can spray noise and before I can see what he’s doing, the breeze carries Lysol spray odor over to me. Immediately, sinus pressure starts as I fumble with the door handle to hurl myself back into my car.
Inside the car, blinking my eyes from the irritation, I can’t help but wonder why this guy is spraying his hands with Lysol? Did he dig around in his cat’s dirty litter box for something he dropped?