Chapter 18 Almost Identical to the Big Dipper, Part 1

I have a series of freckles that are almost identical to the Big Dipper. They’re on my left knee and I've often wondered if this is a sign, like maybe I’m special or chosen or something stupid like that.

Anyhow, whatever the case may be, I’m pretty proud of my constellation and so the other day I was admiring it while parked under a tree with narrow branches and wide leaves. It was a cool spot in the shade and I thought it quite nice to be there, because it was very hot and I had somehow found it in the midst of an otherwise treeless parking lot.

It was like an oasis.

Various others were coming and going and entering and exiting the supermarket while I waited for my best friend and lover and wife (all wrapped up in one person) to emerge. I wasn't sure what she went in for, but really, it didn’t matter.

I thought that the shade actually had texture on my skin, like it was powdery, if that's even possible. My eyes were getting heavy but before I drifted away completely, I glanced over at the line of shopping carts that were haphazardly crashed into each other and one of them had some beer in the bottom shelf by the wheels. Not just any beer, though; it was a 12-pack of Coronas, bottles of course, because they don’t do cans. At least I don’t think they do.

So, I got out of the car and I walked over and hunched down to look at the beer. They were cold, because the bottles were sweating and I wanted one, even without a lime, though one with a lime would have been a nice bonus.

I waited and turned my head and then my body around in a couple circles, like I was on a caper, checking to see if anyone was coming back for it. Certainly someone would come back. Maybe not for warm Budweisers, but definitely for cold Coronas.

After a few minutes of this, no one came, so I took the booty from the bottom of the cart and my gut was telling me to stash 'em in the trunk of my car, but instead I took them inside. I walked past the pleasant greeter and sidled up to the customer service desk.

The woman behind the counter asked why I was returning the beer. Was there something wrong and did I have a receipt? I smiled at her smugly because I knew I was doing the honorable thing.

“I’m not returning it,” I said. “I found it.”

She looked down at the Coronas.

“You found them. There’s more than one in there, so you found them.”

I thought right then and there that I also found something else: that the customer service desk woman was a smart ass.

“Alright, I found them,” I corrected myself with a glare that wasn’t very nice.

“Where?” she asked.

“In your parking lot. Under a cart. Can I keep them?”

She glared back at me.

“What, like a reward?”

Oh, she was definitely a smart ass.

“Yes, like a reward,” I replied. Even as I said it, I knew I didn't really deserve a reward. Maybe they could give me a coupon for being honest, but I shouldn't get the whole 12-pack.

Nevertheless, she left and went through some back door and trusted me not to have second thoughts and bolt with the cold beer staring at me from the counter. I thought maybe she was checking with a manager about what to do.

I waited for a long time and all the while thought that, really, this shouldn’t have been that difficult. She could have politely refused me, taken the beer and held it behind the counter for some woman to eventually come back in with a receipt (of course it would be a woman) and she'd be panting and frazzled because, when she got home, she'd find her limes but not her Coronas.

And all she wanted was a cold Corona with a sliver of lime.

(I say all of that not because women are forgetful, but because it seems that only women drink Coronas. And me, a guy, who happens to also like them, as in plural.)

Oddly enough, though, that’s not what happened when the customer service woman returned. She came out and she was smiling.

And then she said I could keep the beer.

“I can keep the beer? Really?”

“Yes. On one condition.”

She kept smiling and more people came out from behind, and they were smiling too, and some started clapping. One woman took a picture and I thought that maybe I was dreaming. Then the smart ass explained that each year, they leave a 12-pack of Coronas in the bottom of a cart. They’ve done it for eleven years and for eleven years they’ve watched a person discover the beer, look around the lot, and then take off with it. This is their twelfth attempt and they’ve been waiting all of this time for the one person who would be honest.

And that one person was me.

Then she said, “You must be special or maybe you’re chosen or something stupid like that.”

"Maybe I am.” I thought about telling her that I have a replica of a well known constellation on my knee, but then I assumed she’d probably make fun of me. So I didn't.

Anyhow, there was a strange pause and silence and everyone was staring at me so I looked over my shoulder to see if this was a joke or if maybe even people like me can get punk'd. I reached down and started pinching my Big Dipper to wake up, you know, just in case I really had fallen asleep under the narrow branches with the wide leaves.

But nothing happened. This was real, I think, or at least I haven't woken up yet.

So, I informed her and the small crowd of supermarket employees that I was up for the challenge, I suppose, but obviously needed to know what the one condition was.

As soon as she started talking, I thought that maybe I should have followed my gut and put the abandoned beer in my trunk.