Rock Star Parking

I took Miss Fussy Pants with me to Sam's Club this afternoon. Not a good idea. When we pulled into the parking lot I thought it was going to be the greatest trip ever because I got the best parking spot in the world. It was total rock star parking. That always makes me think I'm going to have a good experience somewhere. If I can get the best parking spot, I just know it's destined to be a good trip. Well, my theory could not have been more wrong. When we walked in the store (Presley was in her car seat which was in the cart) she started fussing. I was thinking, this could go either way. Either she'll fall asleep and I could stay here all night if needed, or she'll scream bloody murder and I will be sprinting through the store. The latter happened. I was literally running through the store grabbing things and throwing them in my cart. I got all the way to the check out counter and realized I forgot diapers. The whole reason I came to Sam's. The diapers are at the opposite end of the store. As I'm sprinting back to get them, something gets lodged in the wheel of the shopping cart. I try moving it forwards, backwards - whatever it was, it wasn't coming out. In fact, the right front wheel was barely moving. So this forces me to basically bend half way over to push my cart. So there I was. My child was screaming and I was bending half way over pushing my lovely cart as fast as I could. In addition, I'm sure I had a frantic look on my face. We were certainly quite the pair. As I'm rushing, I bump into someone I know. Go figure. I did my best to look as happy and friendly as ever. 'Would love to talk,' I say, 'but my child is freaking out!' I'm sure she was thankful not to be seen with me at that point. We get to the check out line and of course there are a million people there. So finally it's our turn. One of the things I threw in my cart was a display for a book of stamps. Buying stamps at Sam's is a pain. They have to get on their walkie-talkies and page the manager who then has to drop what he/she is doing and bring the stamps to you. Well, given the situation I specifically ask the check-out guy whether it's going to take long to get the stamps. 'No.' He says, 'he'll have them right away.' Wrong. The manager guy is on the phone chatting up a storm. All the while Presley is still screaming and people are staring. Some with looks of compassion. Others, who are clearly baby-haters, look like they are so annoyed. It felt like Presley and I were on center stage and every eyeball in the place was dead set on us. Finally the manager gets off the phone and saunters over to us. I'm thinking, 'Seriously. Pick up the pace. It's obvious we have a situation over here.' A year later we get the stamps and we're outta there. And thank goodness for the fabulous parking spot. We get into the car and race out of the parking lot. Presley fell asleep rather quickly so I decided to take my chances and grab dinner at Chipotle. Once again, rock star parking spot wide open. Are you kidding me? This can't be happening. I couldn't pass it up. This time, my theory held true. Not a peep out of her. Whew. I love rock star parking.