Big Pic Story

I think today, instead of posting a photo (I should have some photo365+1 extra credit by now), I'll tell my story about the pic that got away. We all have these, don't we? The ones we could've/would've/should've gotten, but...we didn't have the camera, or the camera battery had died, or we ran out of film/memory, or the lighting was just too bad....

My dear friend, Madame X, and I were having yet another late night at school. When it was time for a dinner run, she popped over to my classroom on the opposite end of the universe, we hopped into her jett-y, and sped away to the nearest Wendy's for chicken sandwiches. As we emerged from the school parking lot, however, our eyes were drawn to the same ghastly vision. We hadn't even pulled from the middle turning lane into a normal driving lane before the garish colors began to materialize into clarity. It was trash day in our OC hamlet. The unnatural colors emanated from one trash can at the curb of a nearby apartment building.

It took a few moments before our minds registered what said spectacle actually was. You know how, when you have a car accident, your mind and memory register the event in slow motion, even though it only took split seconds to occur? It couldn't have taken us more than two seconds to drive past the overstuffed trash bin, but it feels as though the moment lasted ten times that. Madame X and I both glanced at the compelling colors sticking up out of the bin, and we registered its true form simultanously. It was a plastic, blond, lipstick-O-mouthed blow-up sex doll, partially deflated (I shudder to think why); a body, abandoned in a dumpster. Trashy indeed.

Cackles and howls of shocked recognition and laughter filled the jett-y. OMG, a photo op if I've ever seen one! But alas, I had left my camera at home! Nooooo! I had only my cell phone with its crappy camera, but something was better than nothing. But by the time we had processed this information, we were already through the intersection with a changing light on our heels. We vowed to stop by the serendipitous scene on our return from Wendy's. But again alas, on our way back, with hot, pungent sandwiches in hand, the jett-y filled with stomach-teasing temptations, Madame X refused to stop -- "We should," she said, as she shifted gears, sailed past, and turned into the parking lot. I blame her for the one that got away. (It was this big!)