strangers? why i’m talking to them.
as i rolled down my window, the parking lot attendant leaned out his.
him: that’ll be $20.
me: *reaches for purse*
him: oh, you look just like that actress. you know the one.
me: *thinks to self, here we go.*
him: the one from my SUPER EX-GIRLFRIEND.
me: *thinks to self, that’s the movie he’s referencing?* and KILL BILL.
him: yes! what’s her name?
me: uma thurman.
him: YES! you look just like her.
R: *leans over from passenger side* she is uma thurman. can we get comped?
him: *laughs* nice try, but sorry, no.
me: *thinks to self if i was uma thurman, i’d certainly not bat an eyelash at a $20 parking charge. heck, i wouldn’t have to pay it because i wouldn’t be driving. i’d have a driver.*
R: *to me* ab, i got this. i have a declining balance with you. *to man* do you take credit cards?
him: yes.
*as he ran the credit card, i turned to R*: i’ve always thought uma thurman was really weird looking. i kind of hate that’s who everyone tells me i look like.
R: you definitely have similar features to her though. blonde hair.
me: a lot of people have blonde hair.
R: it’s your cheekbones.
me: she’s weird looking!
R: i agree. she is a little weird.
me: it’s equivalent of someone telling me i look like tori spelling.
R: NO. no. no. totally not the same thing. no.
him: here’s your card. the receipt’s on the bottom and the orange ticket on top needs to go on your dashboard.
me: got it, thanks.
and with that, we took our non-famous selves to our non-glamorous parking spot, but just then, we realized the other parking attendant had waited to make sure we had proper directions on how to get into the DCU center to see carrie underwood.
his kindness made us feel a bit like royalty.
in other news, why can’t someone tell me i look like carrie underwood? i’d consider that a compliment.
Abigail Mumford 