Excuse me...Do you drive a red car? − 1 May, 1990
Isolating problems in cantankerous computer equipment is difficult enough without folks standing over your shoulder. Some interruptions, however, are well deserving of your utmost attention...
The offices of Cannon & Company, CPA frequently kept me busy with various support tasks associated with their antiquated word processing system. In those days, we called such a limited-function environment a "dedicated system". Now we call it Microsoft Windows - but, I digress. At any rate, I was up to my suit and tie in 8-inch floppies when the receptionist, a sweet and somewhat delicate creature, quietly walked in the room where I was losing religion.
Out of the corner of my eye I could see her standing there, but I thought she was waiting to speak with one of the office staff members who were milling about. "Mr. Stewart?", she finally asked rather tentatively. I looked up from the technological abortion scattered across the desk. "Mr. Stewart, do you drive a red car?"
"Yes", I replied, not really sure where the conversation was headed.
"Your car...a red car...is rolling down the parking lot."
Now the first thing that came to mind was Peters Creek Parkway, the four-lane slab of pavement that fronted the office building and the natural destination of any car which decided to go on a self-directed jaunt across the sloped parking lot. Slinging a rolling desk chair our of the way, I bolted past the receptionist and reached the front door in record time.
One thing about this building - it was built in the 1960s when someone thought that placing doorknobs in the middle of the door was a stunning artistic achievement. As it happened, I grabbed the ill-placed feature and pulled the stately wood portal right into my face. When the stars were once again safely ensconced in the firmament, rather than my eyes, I continued my quest; half-expecting to see traffic on the busy thoroughfare at a standstill due to my errant vehicle.
Much to my surprise, my 1988 Acura Integra decided to get friendly with a Pontiac Trans-Am in the parking lot; coming to rest on the latter's rear passenger quarter-panel.
To this day, I never leave a car without setting the parking brake.
