Where’s My Car?

Have you ever left the grocery store and forgotten where you had parked? Of course, you have. We all have, right? To avoid this problem, whenever I go to Target now, I park in the same aisle and in roughly the same spot. Same with the grocery store.

If I’ve parked in a lot that I don’t use frequently, I often find myself leaving the shop or restaurant, and mindlessly wandering around the aisles hoping to recognize my vehicle before someone reports a suspicious figure loitering around the parked cars.

Sometimes, I’ll discover that I’ve wasted precious time looking for the wrong car, forgetting that I had taken Pat’s car to the store instead of mine.

Are you like me? When I can’t find my car and I think people are watching me, I pretend to check my phone or extract the keys from my purse while I surreptitiously look for my car. (Siri and I have far different views on how to spell “surreptitiously”, but I’ll take her word for it.) For some reason, I’m embarrassed that a total stranger may figure out that I can’t find my car. Like that’s a big deal.

I never, ever consider using my key fob’s alarm button to find my car. For a few reasons. Number One: I know I would have a tough time deciphering where in the parking lot the siren sound was coming from. Number Two: Any and all alarms, cause growing anxiety and panic in me if they are not turned off immediately. I have the same issue with home smoke alarms, more so because I do not know how to turn ours off. Which leads me to Number Three: I have never been successful in using my key fob to turn my car alarm off.

I once served on the Franklin County Grand Jury in Columbus, Ohio. It was a two-week stint in downtown, Columbus. I was paid maybe ten dollars per day and got free parking to boot. Very lucrative. I parked in the municipal parking garage adjacent to the courthouse. I made it a practice to park on the same level in roughly the same spot, each day.

It’s about 1:00 pm on the third day of my civic duty. The jury has been released for the day. I head over to the parking garage’s third floor and discover that my blue Ford Taurus is not where I had parked it. Hmm. I walk up and down the aisles on the third level and no car. Hmm. I walk down a level, immediately below where I usually park. Maybe I got my levels wrong this morning. But a search of the entire second level brings me no closer to finding my car.

I’m getting a bit anxious now. I return to the third level and look again. Every day I’ve parked in the same spot. Where is my car?

It is now – or probably long before now — that any normal person would use the alarm on their key remote to find their automobile. But not me. You know what I did? I trekked down to the parking attendant booth at the garage entrance on the first level and told the guy there that my car had been stolen. Really. That’s what I did. Talk about jumping to conclusions. Honestly, would any of you have actually reported your car stolen? Wouldn’t contacting security and telling them you couldn’t find your car be more reasonable? I know.

The guy clearly does not believe me but tells me he will call security. After a few minutes of my pacing back and forth outside the booth, and drivers in at least five exiting cars giving me the once-over, the security guard shows up. And I can tell right away he doesn’t believe me either. Actually, he better hope my car hasn’t been stolen; it would say something about his effectiveness as a security guard.

The guard immediately asks me if I used my key fob alarm. Of course not. It didn’t even occur to me. Instead, I answer, “I haven’t tried it yet. I didn’t see the need because I always park in the same spot.”

We climb to the third level. I press my alarm button. Nothing. We walk further. I continue to press my alarm. Still nothing.

“I can hear it,” the guard says. “It’s coming from above us.” It’s not until we reach the fourth level that I too can hear a car alarm going off. We walk to the far end of the parking garage – not even close to where I think I parked on the third floor – and there it is. My car.

What an imbecile. Why wouldn’t I have checked the fourth and fifth levels of the parking garage before assuming my car was stolen?

Embarrassed, I thank the security guard, explaining that I obviously parked on the wrong level this morning. Then I ask, “Do you mind turning off my car alarm? This thing doesn’t work for me.” I hand him my key fob.

I cannot tell you how relieved I am to drive my stolen car to the attendant booth and find that the person I had originally reported the theft to is not the same man I hand my validated parking ticket to. Thank God and halleluiah! This new guy will find out soon enough about me, the crazy lady who reported her car stolen. I leave the parking garage as though I’m just another normal person. I just hope I don’t have to see either one of these parking attendants – the one I reported the crime to and now this one — ever again. But I have seven more days of jury duty.