Merriam Webster describes synchronicity as the coincidental occurrence of events – especially psychic events that seem related, but are not explained by conventional mechanisms of causality.
I describe synchronicity as the coincidental occurrence of strange events which typically happen to redheads.
Yesterday, I enjoyed a redheaded synchronous event, one right out of Carl Jung’s a causal connecting principle.
I had to run to the drugstore at Rite Aid to buy Brian allergy medicine, because I swear this boy of mine is allergic to air during this time of year. His eyes look like something from a Hannibal rising horror film, all puffed and red. There are wads of Kleenex in small piles throughout our house. Fed up, I decide to go buy him some Claritin.
On my way to Rite Aid I begin day dreaming about my next vehicle, imagining myself driving a 2007 Mercedes-Benz GL 450:
I think, “Hmmm I really should go test drive one, or find one to take a photo of . . .” Just then in the distance, parking in front of me at Rite Aid is this dream car.
A tall, good looking businessman gets out and walks into Rite Aid. Bless my over-boiled potatoes, here is my chance.
I park and walk over to his car and for a time am lost in the thoughts of driving it, when I suddenly remember why I went to the store – I should get Brian his allergy medication. I stand in line at the pharmacy to buy medicine that I used to be able to pick up in the isles, because I guess all people with allergies are future crack whores to the government. After allowing my drivers license to be swiped for a whoppin’ 10 pills, I exit towards the electronic doors, where the Mercedes-man is standing at the edge of a counter.
“Is that your beautiful Mercedes?” I ask, pointing outside.
“Why yes,” he grins.
“It’s my dream car. I have a photo of it above my desk. Do you love it?”
“Here then”, he continues, “Take my keys and go sit in it and check it out for yourself.”
I am stunned as he hands me his car keys and directs me out the door. He does not follow, and leaves me to go check out his car on my own – ME the perfect stranger. He stays inside Rite Aid, as I press the buttons that open the driver’s door. I am experiencing that elated, excited feeling as I slide across the leather seat, placing my hands around the leather steering wheel. It feels surreal.
It still has that new car smell. It lacks the wrappers and soda can rings only a teenager would leave, so it is obvious this man doesn’t have children, for if he does then he must haul them by tying them to the hood.
For a brief moment I imagine myself driving the freeway to my dream home in Los Gatos:
I thoroughly enjoy the moment, taking it all in, then slowly I exit the drivers seat, gently shut the door and walk back into Rite Aid.
I am sure my grin was as wide as my ass (which is really big). I pass him back his keys and say, “WOW. How kind of you. Thank you so much!”
“Did you like it?” he grins.
“I loved it”
He takes a package from the Rite Aid employee at the counter, turns to me and smiles, “If I was not on my way to an appointment I’d let you take it for a test drive.”
With that he shakes my hand, winks and exits to the parking lot.
I’d move my feet to follow – if they’d only move. He gets in his car and drives away as the electronic doors are opening and shutting, opening and shutting because I am stuck standing on the release floor pad. I come to my senses as a Rite Aid person asks me if there is a problem.
The problem is that I am not leaving in that Mercedes.
I love synchronicity.
If someone invites me to that house in Los Gatos this week, I’ll faint.
Until next time –
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