Born to be lied too

So here's what happened yesterday.
Yesterday, it all went out the window.
They were withdrawing care on a patient I'd been taking care of for more than a month. It was my day off, but I'd become close to the family and wanted to support them while it happened. I couldn't find any socks, so I wore boots over my bare feet. I also couldn't find my parka, so I ended up wearing my embarrassing mink coat. That coat is bad luck.
I dropped by the hospital, sat with the family for a little bit. I didn't stay for the whole thing, because I felt it was a private matter, but I think they were glad I was there. I worked very closely with the next of kin and I know that coming to that decision was the most wrenching thing they'd ever done (I don't want to even give a gender on this due to privacy protection.
Then I drove downtown to my shrink's. I see my shrink every other Wednesday.
Since it's ass biting cold, there wasn't much parking downtown. There was one open spot in front of a bank. I pulled in, fed the meter, and went to my appointment. When I got out, I ran into an old friend of mine I hadn't seen in 6 months. She used to be my boss. She's an amazing person--who I want to be. About ten years older than I am--a former single mom, an executive, a deeply devout woman. In almost every difficult situation I get into, I ask myself, "How would Carrie handle this?" Then I do it. She's very nice, but sharp as a tack, and tough, too. And she's pretty.
"Want to go for lunch? I was just going to call you!" she laughs.
So, nice long lunch. Parking meters only last 2 hours in our town, so I was a little worried about getting a ticket--I'd been away 2 1/2 hours. But I'm friends with the parking attendant--I was the only person in our junior high who remained her friend after her uncle murdered her entire family--so she usually skips my car when writing out the tickets. My car's easy to spot: the ancient blue Saab convertible with all the bumper stickers. "No one is free when others are oppressed!" "Any day above the ground is a good one"
Well, when I get back, my car's gone!
Since my violin was in the trunk, I was pretty upset. I also always leave the keys in it.
Okay, okay, I tell myself. Maybe it hasn't been stolen. Maybe it's just been towed.
I run into the bank. "Excuse me," I ask, "Did you see the blue saab outside? Did someone drive off in it?"
"We had it towed." the teller tells me.
First, I'm relieved. "Well, that's good." I start to say. Then I stop. "Wait a minute, why did you tow it?"
"Those spaces are reserved. There's a big sign on the meter."
"There isn't a sign."
The teller comes outside with me to look at the meter. Sure enough. No sign.
"No sign, right?" I say.
"No sign. I'll get the manager."
"I'll get the manager."
I walk into her office, where she's sitting with a slightly bewildered looking older woman I sit down next to her.
"I'm in the middle of a meeting. " The manager is overweight, with some evidence of bells palsy or maybe a former stroke on her face. She's forty, blonde, in black pants and a pink acrylic sweater.
"I know. I'm interrupting. I so apologize," I say to the old lady, "but you'll understand, I'm sure as you hear my story," which I then relate.
"there's a sign on the meter." The manager says.
"No there isn't. Come look."
The manager comes outside with me. No sign.
"Well,"she says, "there should be. The tow truck driver must have taken it off to tow the car."
"Why would he do that?"
"I don't know." she's getting irritated.
She goes back inside, roots around behind her desk, finds the sign and goes outside and puts it over the meter.
"there."
"Okay," I say, "but you can't tow me if I didn't know not to park there! You didn't have your sign up."
"You were there too long anyways. That car had been there since 1030 this morning."
"No it wasn't. I was withdrawing care on a patient at 11. My doctor's appointment was at 1115. You're lying."
"You were parked there over three hours."
"I'm calling the police." I do so. I stand in the lobby, pacing back and forth, telling the story very loudly. Then I call Hunter, Jay's friend. I tell the story to him, again very loudly, leaning on the door jam of the branch manager's office. Then I called the parking authority, and told them the whole story, very loudly. Then I called Jay and my father and repeated the whole thing to them, each time very loudly. Standing in the middle of the echoing lobby, so that every single person in the bank could hear me. I called the towing company.
"Can I talk to the driver?"
"He's hard of hearing."
I tell the guy who answers the phone the story. He puts me on hold for a moment. "I just talked to him. He said yes, there was a big green sign next to the car."
"That isn't the color of this sign."
"Oh. Where are you?"
I'm on hold again
"Ok, he says, he was wrong. It was a big white sign."
"Right."
Finally, I give up on getting the tow money from the manager. Before I leave, I sit down in front of her desk.
"I'm on a call."
"Then you'll have trouble concentrating on what I'm saying, I guess, but I'm not leaving your office."
"Angelique, I'll have to call you back." She hangs up and glares at me.
"You and I both know that you're lying. You know there was no sign on that meter. You should have handled this differently. I don't know why you can't just simply admit that you made a mistake--big deal. You're human. We make mistakes all the time. For Christ's sake, you had to go get that sign out of your office and put it on the meter yourself. You're so into defending your little hillock you can't do what's right."
"I'm not going to say anything that will incriminate myself, and you shouldn't either."
"You're a liar. I may not get my $110 back, but at least I'm not going to have to look at myself in the mirror and know I'm a liar. I'm going to tell this story far and wide. This is a small town. Your word is important here, and your word means nothing."
Then I left.
"You have to look in the mirror, too, hon!" she calls after me.
"Don't call me hon."
So my dad picks me up at the Dakota, and I go out to the towing company to get the car. The lot's open. I walk right up to it and drive it out. Whewww. The fiddle's still there.
I hand the guy behind the counter a check. There are two gorgeous little kids, a little girl and a boy sitting there, eating sandwiches. "What are you eating?" I ask.
"Peanut butter and jelly, My mom made the jelly."
"Yummmm." I hand the guy a check.
"We don't take checks." he tells me. "Cash only."
"Okay, well, I'll be back."
"You can't take your car with you."
"Listen, I just drove my car off your lot and came to your office anyways to pay you. Do you really think I'm going to screw you over? You wouldn't have even known."
"You got a point there."
I try to call Jay. Can't reach him. I know he's at a conference down South. I call the hotel, get his room. He picks up the phone. Then I remember--oh right, I'm not supposed to know about this. I know he's at the conference because my drummer is going, too. Actually, Jay has told me he's going, but he told me he's going on a different day. Why he would lie about one day when I'm not going and he travels all around the country anyway with no complaints from yours truly, I don't know. Some folks just have to spice things up with a lie I guess, even unnecessary ones. I hang up. My cell rings. It's Jay.
"Is everything okay? Did you get your car?"
"Yeah. How's the conference?"
"I'm not at the conference. I'm in the capitol."
Normally, I would let this slide. I'm very in to not crowding people. But today, I'm just so sick of being lied to.
"Okay, Jay. Let's cut the crap. You're at Tan-tar-a. I just called your room and you picked up the phone. I checked up on you because I don't trust you. Sorry."
There's a big pause.
"Okay, yes. I'm at Tan-tar-a. How did you know?"
"You told me you were going."
"I did?"
"Yes."
Apparently he doesn't remember this. I don't know which is the bigger problem--the pathological lying or the early onset alzheimers.
"We sat there and talked about it with Dave and Leann."
"We did?"
"Yes"
"Wow. Was I drunk?"
"I hope so, because otherwise you need symmetrel and you're going to have trouble wiping yourself soon."
"Funny."
There's another pause.
"I'm not a pathological liar," he begins. "I mean, I didn't even need to lie about this. I don't know why I did."
"Huh."
"I guess another way to look at this is, what is it about you that makes me want to lie to you all the time--I mean, I don't think this is all me."
"Well," I sigh, "it sounds like you have something to think about. Have fun" Then I hang up. He calls later that night, but I don't answer. I take the kids out to Macaroni Grill.
"Stop crying," Lilly tells me. "I hate it when you cry. You look like the puppy."
That's my 1/2 hour. Nick has a fever and I have to run and get him ginger ale before the storm sets in.