Car park crisis

So I was working from home this week, on a day when it was raining heavily and we had no food left. I thought, let’s take the car to Sainsbury’s at lunch! Weekday lunchtime, going to be empty, right? Right?

WRONG!

It was absolutely rammed, or jam-packed, or – as Jeremy Corbyn would say – ram-packed. The roads were full, queues into and on and off roundabouts, and an ominously full Sainsbury’s car park. I haven’t had much practise at driving and parking gives me the fear. I normally try to go for a space where I can pull in and pull all the way through so I can just drive straight out the other side. So I spotted a space like that and tried to pull in. I asked my partner for help with getting past the car on his side as my spatial awareness is not the greatest (I still have a bruise on my thigh from walking into a table in a Chinese restaurant in April). I was going to hit the car so I reversed, then started to pull in again. This time I was convinced I was going to hit the car my side, so I reversed again. Repeat x4. Then I stopped to let by a car behind me, and then – horror of horrors – the next car flashed its lights to let me get the fuck out of the way. I panicked, couldn’t work out whether to go forward, backwards, try and fit in the space, give up… in the end I decided there was no way I was going to be able to work out how the hell to get in the space so I just reversed out. At this point my partner was treated to the joy of being in a car with someone on the very edge of a panic attack – obviously something to tick off the list in every relationship.

I pulled into another space (thank GOD there was one straight in front of me I could pull into without having to steer, although I should have done a bit so that my partner could get out of his side without turning into a 6 foot 2 contortionist) and burst into tears. After a second we got out and started walking into the store, but then I burst into tears again against my partner’s jumper (who nobly ignored the fact he was being dripped on by the roof of the walkway, as well as getting sogged by my crying). We got round the shop, with him making excellent silly jokes (duelling with bread batons, anyone?) and me trying not to cry or vomit, and both of us trying to avoid the ENDLESS bloody people who wandered into our paths, stopped in the middle of aisles, and walked into us even when we were stationary.

Of course, for better or worse we also had to drive home. In hindsight, this was probably for the best – getting back on the horse and all that. Thankfully Sainsbury’s is only thirty seconds from the flat so I made it back without any further crises. Got home, unpacked the bags and… burst into tears again. Although the “danger” had long since passed, panic attacks are odd in that the emotions will just keep rolling, rolling, rolling until you get to a quiet safe space where you can let it all out. Of course, tea is also essential and provided excellent comfort.

So, lesson learned. NEVER go to Sainsbury’s on a Friday lunchtime when it’s pissing it down with rain.

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