In Which Ma Nearly Maims the Bag Boy

It wasn't my fault.

Really.

And he's probably not hurt...very much.

It all started with my having to take Our-Green-Dragon-Lady-Lincoln-of-Power shopping, instead of the more economical 22-year-old Toyota. So I guess we could place the blame on Loren, who is fixing something on the intrepid Corolla.

Of course, I would never do that.

Not only am I not a maimer of bag boys, I am also not a caster of blame.

One could almost say I am not a maimer-blamer.

ANY-way, I had just bought groceries for well under a c-note, $91.83, to be exact, and was congratulating myself while transferring milk to the cooler (for which foresight one might also deserve congratulatory thoughts), when I became vaguely aware that the bag boy had finished his trunk-loading duties. It was now time for him to close the lid.

Closing the trunk lid is always a bit dicey for the inexperienced, fresh-faced youth they hire at Fareway.

For Our-Green-Dragon-Lady-Lincoln-of-Power, despite being 16 years old, still has the noble feature of a power closing trunk.

You gently push the lid down, wherein the power mechanism takes over and the trunk lid very coolly and efficiently powers down the final two inches, locking into the closed position.

Many a time Ma has impressed various bag boys with this feature, leaving them slack-jawed in amazement.

And several times she has had to give the instruction, "Just leave it...it goes down by itself," as they keep trying to push it closed.

(I have to wonder if this trunk feature--not unlike high heels invented by men to torture women--was developed by a woman to annoy men who just have to smack things into place)

And SO, I was thinking to myself--as I struggled to arrange two gallons of milk amongst the cooler's ice packs, 5-quart container of ice cream, and bags of Dove's chocolate in the back seat, passenger side-- "Here's another one who's gonna need to be told, 'let it be.' "

"OW! My finger's caught in the trunk...."

"Are you kidding me?!"

Ma, having already tossed the keys into the front seat, was sans remote. There was nothing to do but dive over the front seat and into the driver's side, reaching desperately (nay...heroically), for the trunk release on the bottom of the driver side door.

She did this in approximately 1.84 seconds, no doubt saving the lad from a compressed finger, developing gangrene, and eventually a slow and humiliating death on a future episode of House.

"Oh my....ARE YOU ALL RIGHT?"

"Yeah...I'm fine."

"Are you sure."

"Yeah, really...it's fine."

In retrospect, I should have insisted, "Here, let me take a look at it...my daughter is studying to be a PA..."

I think he saw the trunk hadn't closed yet and was trying to pull it back up for a really good downward wham.

*sigh*

I really need to post a sign on the back. Something like, "Please...DO NOT TEASE THE LINCOLN!"

Maybe I'll come back next week in disguise...
 

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