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We had wonderful discussions on a variety of topics, and then he asked, “Have you ever thought of gastric surgery?” I nearly spit a mouthful of rockfish in his face before saying, “I sure have.I finally said, “Armando, it’s been a long day, it’s time to take me home.” To which he replied, “Oh, my darling, the night’s just begun!” I pushed my chair away from the table, and he got up. Armando again held up traffic in the far left lane (there are still three other lanes to his right to choose from), failed to use his turn signals, and intentionally went straight in a right-turn only lane. We arrived at my house, Armando pulled into my driveway, then turned the engine off.
I offered to pay for my share, he insisted that I didn’t.
When I asked if he realized where he parked, he said, “Oh, most of those people with those stickers aren’t handicapped at all, they’re just lazy.” You don’t say? Armando got out of the car and proceeded to walk toward the front door of the restaurant.
Not only did he walk faster than he drove, but he bursted into the restaurant as if he expected a ticker tape welcome.
And this was the beginning of my first date with Armando, a 59-year-old successful businessman who believed that nice cars should only be driven in the furthest left lane of the road. Once again, horns blared, middle fingers waved, and I bit my tongue. I’m still not sure how we got to the restaurant without being gunned down or forced off the road, but we made it.
Armando took up two parking spaces, one was designated for handicapped parking.