Parking Lot

Sitting in the gym's parking lot, I had an amazing view of Boulder's Flatirons. The Flatirons are a row of jagged rock outcroppings in the foothills above this picturesque town. They are so beautiful it persuaded the first settlers to give up their trek farther west and settle down in the fertile valley that became Boulder. 

As I gazed at this majestic view, in my peripheral vision came a business man, dry cleaning in hand, crossing the expanse of parking lot. He didn't make an impact on me until he attempted to open the back door of his Lexus RX300 SUV. He quickly became exasperated that the door would not cooperate with him and open. His loud profanity broke the spell the mountain range held over me. He flung his dry cleaning wildly as he did that dorky straight guy angry dance. Mr. Business soon realized that the ubiquitous beige SUV that he was pounding on was not his, that his was right next to it. Happy with his Alexander Fleming like discovery he marched over to the other beige Lexus. At this point he had clicked his remote around eight-hundred times. Anyone within a mile could have seen that his uninspired SUV was on the next row, flashing away. I guess three people fell under Lexus’ fake luxury spell. 

I thought about getting out of my car and explaining that the second car he was about to assault was also not his. I stopped myself because I realized that this was his lesson for buying such an overly produce, lame, overly-hyped vehicle. The FlowBee of the SUV world. Instead, I watched the dance happen over again before he looked up to see the flashing headlights of his version of the brown box flash at him. 

I thought this event was a perfect analogy for  my work week. Me attempting to force open locked doors, jumping up and down to convince the doors to open, before raising my head up and finding the correct door that would open. 

I stopped staring at the mountains and went inside the gym to work out.