I live in a large city and don’t own a car.
I never have.
Between the subway, buses, rideshares, and walking, I’ve never really needed one.
At the time this happened, I didn’t even have a driver’s license.
One afternoon, I left a grocery store carrying two bags of groceries.
One bag was in my hand, and a few smaller items were tucked into a backpack.
I was halfway across the parking lot when a woman suddenly stepped directly into my path.
“Excuse me!” she shouted.
I stopped, thinking maybe I had dropped something.
Instead, she pointed across the parking lot.
“You need to move your truck right now!”
I stared at her.
“My what?”
“Your truck!”
She jabbed a finger toward a large white pickup parked next to a small orange hatchback.
The vehicles were parked close together, though both were technically within their spaces.
The hatchback driver would definitely have to squeeze to get inside.
Still, that had nothing to do with me.
“I think you’ve got the wrong person,” I said.
“No, I don’t.”
“Actually, you do.”
She folded her arms.
“You parked that giant thing way too close to my car.”
I looked at the truck.
Then at her.
Then back at the truck.
“I don’t own a truck.”
“Sure you don’t.”
“I don’t.”
“Stop lying.”
At this point, I genuinely thought she had mistaken me for someone else.
Maybe she’d seen another guy nearby.
Maybe she was confused.
But instead of reconsidering, she became even more certain.
“You truck people are all the same,” she snapped.
“I walked all the way across this lot to find you.”
“You found the wrong person.”
“No, I didn’t.”
I held up my grocery bags.
“I’m literally walking home.”
She rolled her eyes.
“That doesn’t prove anything.”
Several shoppers had started watching.
One older man paused with his shopping cart and quietly enjoyed the show.
Meanwhile, the woman continued her lecture.
She called me inconsiderate.
Selfish.
Entitled.
Apparently I was personally responsible for every oversized vehicle in the city.
Finally, I pointed toward the truck.
“What makes you think it’s mine?”
She looked triumphant.
“Aha!”
“As if that’s evidence.”
“You were walking near it.”
I blinked.
“I was walking near half the parking lot.”
“Exactly.”
That was the moment I realized logic wasn’t going to help.
Then an idea occurred to me.
“Okay,” I said.
“If it’s my truck, what color is it?”
She frowned.
“What?”
“What color is my truck?”
“The white one.”
“Good.”
I nodded.
“Then unlock it.”
“What?”
“You seem very confident it’s mine.”
She stared.
I continued.
“Go ahead. Tell me to unlock it.”
The crowd around us grew slightly larger.
A few people were trying not to laugh.
The woman hesitated.
Then doubled down.
“Stop being difficult and move it.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t have the keys.”
“You left them inside.”
“No.”
“Then where are they?”
“I’ve never had them.”
The woman looked increasingly frustrated.
Then, right on cue, a large man carrying several bags exited the store.
He headed directly toward the truck.
Without saying a word, he pressed a button on his key fob.
The truck lights flashed.
Everyone turned.
Including the woman.
The man looked confused.
“Everything okay?”
I smiled.
“Apparently that’s my truck.”
The man stared.
Then laughed.
“Nope. Pretty sure it’s mine.”
The entire crowd burst out laughing.
The woman’s face immediately turned bright red.
She pointed at me.
“But he was standing here!”
The truck owner shrugged.
“So were twenty other people.”
For a few seconds nobody spoke.
Then the owner opened his truck door and climbed inside.
Before leaving, he rolled down the window.
“Good luck figuring out who owns the next one.”
More laughter.
The woman looked like she wanted to disappear.
At that point, a store employee who had been watching from the entrance walked over.
“Ma’am,” he said politely, “is there a problem?”
She mumbled something about a misunderstanding.
Then hurried toward her hatchback.
Ironically, with the truck gone, she now had plenty of room to get in.
The crowd slowly dispersed.
I picked up my grocery bags and continued walking home.
As I left the parking lot, the older man with the shopping cart caught up to me.
“You handled that better than I would have.”
I laughed.
“Honestly, I was waiting to find out what other vehicles I apparently owned.”
He grinned.
“Maybe next time it’ll be a yacht.”
And to this day, that’s still one of the strangest arguments I’ve ever had.
Not because someone thought I parked badly.
But because they were absolutely convinced I owned a truck while I was literally carrying groceries home on foot.
