Proof of the divine

Okay, so it’s remotely possible that there IS a god and that she likes me, and the scene that played out at the grocery store tonight may be the proof we need that this is the case:

I’m pushing my cart along the front of the store, having completed my purchases and heading for the front door and freedom. A guy coming from another register cuts me off so that I have to stop quite abruptly. He’s got a thousand dollar suit, highly polished shoes, an impeccable haircut and a cell phone plastered to his ear. What he doesn’t have is awareness that the world includes anyone but him.

He trundles his way to and through the automatic door, then comes to a dead stop, blocking and me the woman who is now lined up behind me. He then proceeds to fumble about for a good half-minute, intent on finding a way to gather up all his stuff with one hand so he won’t have to relinquish his phone from the grasp of the other. Finally swinging his bags out, he turns without looking behind and proceeds out into the parking lot, leaving his now empty cart blocking the doorway.

Having pushed his cart and mine into the queue of empties, I headed to my own car, all the while streaming some fairly uncharitable thoughts in the direction of Mr. Self-Important. I safely stowed my milk and canned beans on the passenger seat and sat down on the driver side, inserted the key and was about to turn it when I realized that the jerk with the phone hadn’t gotten into his car yet.

I didn’t have to watch for long to deduce from his frantic pocket-squeezing that he couldn’t locate his keys. I watched as he explored the possibilities. Not in the inside pocket. Nope, not in any of the bags. He looked under and around his Jaguar and even back toward the cart corral. Then, in a punch line that only I was in a position to properly enjoy, he shaded the window so he could peer inside. I’m thinking that the fact he next tried both doors before leaning back with a look of despair that is familiar even to those of us without fancy cars or tailored suits meant he’d located his keys.

Did I mention it was about 32 degrees in that parking lot? Am I getting too much joy out of this? Was the cackling that could be heard in my non-Jaguar as I drove away leaving him standing there proof that I am a bad person?

For a guy who has just seen solid evidence that karma actually works, I’m thinking my reaction was downright modest.