By Amy Hair,Senior Columnist,Cup Scene Daily
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Posted:0535hrs

Sometimes you just have to zip your mouth and pray it holds…and other times you need to open it up carefully.

--(Cont'd From Front Page)-- I don’t drive a car with NASCAR paraphernalia hanging all over it, nor do I wear racing shirts or hats when I mill around town, simply because if often starts a conversation that tends to make me arrive late for wherever I’m headed.

I’m not in any way shape or form embarrassed by my love of the sport; I just prefer to stay in the background of the whole deal. Besides…when people don’t think you know a darn thing about racing, they’ll say a whole lot more than they would if they felt the least bit uncomfortable, and so this often produces something to write about.

But silly me, on my key chain is a little tiny jigger thingy that says NASCAR on it, I just couldn’t resist one year, so I bought it. It’s usually not seen by anyone but me because it’s on my car keys and they get thrown in the purse or bag as soon as I’m out of the car and don’t get pulled out again until I’m getting back in. Simple enough…or so I thought.

I was in the checkout lane of my local drugstore, and was digging around in my bag for my wallet to grab the credit card to swipe through the swiper thing by the register, and I had to dig further than normal. Seeing folks stacking up behind me, I grabbed a handful of the stuff on top of the bag and set it on the counter so I could get to my wallet faster…the “stuff” sat there all of 10 seconds and in the pile was my key chain.

Behind me was a girl, woman, lady…something along those lines that had a racing shirt on. I won’t tell you which driver she was flaunting around on her bosom simply because it would ruin the picture you’re getting in your mind.

So, this lady spots my key chain and nonchalantly asks, “Who’s your driver?” I took a slow breath and told her I was just a racing fan, that I like pretty much all the guys. Well, you would have thought I had just thrown her cat in the freezer. Her face became taut and she glared all knowingly… “OH”, she dramatically responded. “I see…you must be a casual fan I guess because we die hards, we have our favorites you know.” I smiled and told her that yes indeed, I realized there were hard core fans out there and I respected their loyalty. Apparently this wasn’t what she wanted to hear, she was ready for a debate.

“So….” She said with thought, “if you had to pick just one driver who would it be?” I watched as she smoothed out her shirt so I could see that huge face starring at me. I feigned ignorance and said something stupid about how in my profession it doesn’t work too well if you choose a favorite. Her ears perked up and she looked at me with curiosity… “What do you do?”

Dang…sometimes I just open my mouth really big and put my whole stupid leg in there. I didn’t have time to get into this right at that moment, or at least I didn’t think I did. I glanced at the cashier who was trying to figure out a price difference on one of my items. I almost told him never mind, I’d just pay $40.00 for the $4.00 item, but thought better of that and looked the lady square in the eyes.

“In my real life or my wanna be life?” I responded to her with all seriousness. She had no clue that I have two jobs, one out of necessity and one that is a dream job. This seemed to throw her off kilter and she just starred. I signed my name on the dotted line and gathered my goodies and headed out the door, holding my breath in hopes that she wouldn’t get finished before I could get to the car. Rude? Yeah, probably, but I was already late and thought that leaving her wondering would be better than just blurting out a driver because then she’d start talking and I’d be even later than I already was.

As I exited the store I heard her say to the cashier, “Well, I never…she didn’t have to act so weird about it, what’s wrong with her…is she with the FBI or something?” The cashier was scanning the items one by one, never looked up and said quietly to the lady, “ Who her? Oh, she writes about NASCAR…you know, one of those internet sites.”

Oh rats, I forgot that the cashier and I had already been through this banter before. I got to my car, cranked it up and backed out. As I was rounding the corner I saw the lady come out scanning the parking lot. She got a glimpse of me and raised her hand, waving as if I had stolen her dog. Dang…

I rolled my window down and settled in for a ten minute question and answer session. Yes, I do write, no I’m not famous, no you shouldn’t recognize me…that’s okay. Yes, I’ve met your driver, yes he was very polite and yes he’s handsome, and sorry, no, I didn’t get his autograph.

Then she lit into her monologue about why her driver is her driver. She began to roll stats off her tongue like she was a robot. She told of the tracks she’d visited and wondered if I could get her better seats at certain ones….and “What’s your name again?” she asked. I watched as her face became more and more expressive with each sentence. Her eyes were twinkling…this lady was absolutely thrilled that she was getting to talk to someone about her favorite driver.

I gave her my name, told her I had no connections for better seats but if I did I’d be sure and hook her up…seeing as how she had given me her business card.

I headed on to where I needed to be, almost turning around to find the lady, but I didn’t.

There’s just something wrong when your life runs so fast that you don’t have time to even talk to your neighbor you know? Well, if she happens to read this, at least she’ll know she made an impression on me. But I’m betting she forgot my name again…she was so hyped up about sharing her driver’s accomplishments that she probably even forgot where she parked.

Ah well, another lesson learned in my daily trod…when you write for the fans, you need to listen to the fans.

I’m still not going to put stickers on my car or wear shirts with big faces on them, not that there is anything wrong with that by the way…it’s just not my thing. But I will stand corrected by circumstance…there should always be time to be kind, no matter how late you might be. This avid fan in the parking lot unknowingly reminded me that just a few short years ago I wouldn’t have hesitated to bark off my favorite drivers stats to anyone that would listen, and I’d be darn proud that I knew them too!

As much as I loathe those shirts with faces draped across them, I’m sure I’m going to be seeing that particular one that was on that lady in it my thoughts when I sit down to write from now on. And just so I don’t forget who I’m writing for, I’m going to stick that register receipt up on my wall over my computer…no one but me will know what it stands for, and that will be just fine.

Now, where’s her card? I think I just might drop her a quick e-mail and tell her I think her driver is going to do just fine at Sonoma this weekend…and thank her for bringing me back to where I needed to be, in the seat of a fan.

NOTE: I'm a one man show, not supported by anyone. If you wish to donate to help offset expense, it would be appreciated:

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