On Sunday, I went to the grocery store to get food for the week.
When I had finally finished shopping and arrived at our apartment complex, I drove around looking for a parking spot. As I was circling around the buildings, I saw Coleman walking to our building, talking on his cell phone.
I slowed down, hoping he would see me, but he just kept walking and chatting away. So, I honked my horn.
“Can you help me carry these groceries in?” I mouthed. He nodded.
I pulled in a parking spot, jumped out of the car and opened the trunk. I started loading reusable bags full of groceries onto my arms. Coleman meandered over and stood next to me, still on his phone. I slammed the trunk shut and turned to face Coleman…
Who was walking away.
I hobbled behind him, carrying seven overflowing grocery bags and my overflowing handbag. Finally, I caught up to him.
“Hey!” I whispered, handing a bag to him.
He grabbed it and kept walking.
“Hey!” I repeated, wanting him to take another bag or two.
He didn’t hear me.
So, we walked next to each other all the way to our building, all the way up three flights of stairs — have I mentioned we’re at 5280 feet above sea level here? — and into the apartment, him carrying one bag and chatting away, and me, gasping for air, trying not to fall backwards down 50 stairs under the weight of the groceries.
Ok, I know I could have tried to get his attention a little more. I’m sure he would have grabbed a few more bags if he would have seen how much I was struggling. But I didn’t ask.
What kind of story would that make?