Stuffed Limo

The place where I fence is in Burbank, in a tiny little industrial area which is all that remains of what had once been a big non-office-building area in that part of town. These days just across the street is a big mall, and over one street is another big mall, but right by the fencing salle there are several car repair places, one hot rod shop, a furniture store, a vacant place that smells like solvent but otherwise is completely anonymous, and a taxidermy shop.
   That's right, smack in the heart of Burbank is a place that will stuff your coyote. And that's not a double-entendre, they really will stuff your coyote. Or your monkey, or your rattlesnake, what have you. There is a great white shark above their door, which certainly looks real, but since it's LA you never quite know.
   Last week as I was - literally - yards away from fencing practice, I was thwarted in my attempts to park by a stretch limo. Not a town car, this was one of those huge, long limos, the kind they bring stars to the Oscars in, the kind with two moon roofs and a fully-stocked wet bar. That kind. It was backing into the taxidermy place.
   Yeah. Figure that one out.
   I'm used to seeing these behemoth cars, they're all over LA. But I am absolutely not used to seeing one laboring to back into the taxidermy shop's parking lot.
   I tried to make up a story about this, like maybe Joan Rivers had exhausted all her plastic surgery options so now she needed to go to a taxidermist, something like that. But nothing could match the completely surreal experience of waiting while the stretch limo tried to park under the stuffed shark. That's odd enough that anything else you might make up is only gilding the lily.
   I wanted to wait and see who got out, or maybe ask the driver precisely what he was doing and who he was driving around, but once the limo had backed in they closed the gate.
   Now I'll never get closure on that anecdote.