And then my car followed a few minutes later. Maybe it thought I was taking too long, but I swear it was only 10 minutes. Nobody was hurt, TJ's sign on the rock wall has only a bit of scuffed paint, and no other cars were damaged; all for which I am deeply grateful. The manager didn't even want my name and phone number, but I forced it on him just in case they need help painting over the scuff mark or something.
Buttercup (my car has a name) is a 1983 Toyota Corolla wagon that used to be in astounding condition for its age, and I am sad that after barely 6 months with me, this happens. And it's my fault for not setting the brake, leaving it in a gear appropriate to the slope of the pavement, and chocking at least one wheel.
One of those chunks of firewood from the other day would make a great chock.