There are few times when life slaps you in the face letting you know that you're being watched. I'm not talking about those little moments when you're rockin' out in your car at a stoplight and look over to see the person next to you laughing. Or those moments, when checking your blog stat counter, you see someone in your old college town was checking up on you. I'm talking about really watching you.
Friday at work, this man came to my register. (Surprising, huh?) He was wearing sunglasses and appeared to have been wearing them the entire time he was in the store. I start to go through my routine. He asks, "Did you live in Shady Acres?" (He didn't actually say Shady Acres, but I'm not going to say where I live.) I hesitate to say yes because of the verb tense--I didn't live there, past tense; I live there, present tense. The man confides he lived in Shady Acres last year. Once again I hesitate because of the time--I haven't been in Atlanta for more than a year. Oh, who am I kidding? I was stalling because I didn't want to tell this random guy where I lived.
Then he admits, "I used to park behind you and you had a distinctive bumper sticker. I always wondered who drove the car and I finally saw you get into your car."
"Ah," I sighed a breath of relief, "that was my car and bumper sticker." I explained to him that at first I thought he was a little bit creepy, but what a relief that he just recognized me from my bumper sticker. We chuckled, he left, and I started helping another person.
The next morning, the same guy with the same sunglasses comes in. He wants a newspaper. I tell him the price and he asks, "So, is the bumper sticker true?"