An unusually eventful trip to the store...

Last night, I worked in my classroom until almost 7 o'clock at night. Finally, deciding I'd had enough, I got into my car and headed home. On the way, I stopped in at Target to take care of some errands. On the way in, I got a Venti coffee (my second of the day, but I was hoping to get some work done that night while Kevin was gone) and proceeded to shop. After I finished buying my "goods", I realized that, if I stopped over at my parents' house prior to going home, it would be a while before I got to eat. So, I decided to grab a bag of popcorn from the snack bar. I took my bag over, along with my coffee, and ordered a large bag of popcorn. The bag, the popcorn, and my coffee were tricky to handle, but I seemed to be doing fine as I moved past the crowds and headed to the exit. It was then that disaster struck. As I shifted my things, some of my popcorn spilled on the floor. Embarrassed, and not wanting to be one of "those" people who make a mess and leave it for someone else to deal with, I bent over and attempted to pick up my popcorn. Next to me, a woman asked me if I was ok. As she was talking to me, I realized that my coffee had tipped over in my arm. The lid popped off and began spilling on my leg as I struggled to clean up my mess. We both realized what was happening, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do. Panicked, I said to her with a mortified laugh, “I need to leave now”. I stopped trying to clean up, and dripped my way over to three men in uniforms, whom I mistook for the Target security staff. I began blabbering about how I had spilt my coffee and my popcorn and how I tried to clean up the mess but made it worse... etc. About 45 seconds into my spiel, it occurred to me that Target NEVER has three security guards working the front of the store. The men, who were probably about my age, continued to listen to me, with surprisingly amused smiles instead of the annoyed expressions I was expecting from those who would have to run the vacuum on my behalf. It was then that I read "Livermore Police" on one of the men's uniforms, and remembered the two police cars I had seen outside on my way in. Unnecessarily, I announced, "Oh God, and you don't even work here! Why am I telling you this?!". My faced flushed, I stood there, with coffee on my pants, unsure of what to do next. Finally, one assured me that he would pass my message along. I thanked them and hobbled to the exit. When I got to my car, I began sobbing hysterically, all the while completely and totally aware of the hilarity of my situation. I bawled my way through town to my parents' house, stopped at every light for my fellow travelers to witness my nervous breakdown.