I realize I’ve really failed on the story front, so here’s one of my latest mis-adventures…

Last month I lost two cars. Two. Not one, but two. Did I mention two? Two cars. Two. One wasn’t even mine, because why not, why limit yourself to just your car when you could lose someone else’s, too.

One car – you’re thinking “ok, this isn’t my day.” Two cars – you know you’re days away from screaming incoherently in a locked room (if they catch you).

We’ll start with my car. On the day I lost my car, I pulled into the garage and I was HOT. It was one of those days where everything was off – a day I found myself already late to somewhere I didn’t even plan to be, but hey, I showed up. I slammed out of my vehicle, stomped about announcing to the world (but mostly to everyone arriving after me), “Worst day ever! CLEAR A PATH! Princess is having an episode!” (I’m not dramatic, you’re dramatic.) Now, this is a familiar place I’m somewhat familiar with, but I couldn’t get to my usual spot, because I had not planned to be there. My agitated brain did it’s best pile on help, and logged the spot in my memory as “you parked in the back-up spot.”

Hours later, I went to that spot and my car was gone. I was cool. I was calm. “Ok, it must be in this same spot but on another floor.” It wasn’t on the next floor, or the next, or the next. I started again. I walked up to the back-up spot, or where it would be on each floor… four times starting at the top of the garage and winding my way down. Now, before you ask, I did use my remote, but I was using it only around the back-up spot, because that’s where the car was (or so I thought), so no horn sounded. Although, there was a moment when I tried using in a different spot, heard my horn, and became insta-irritated because, “OMG! Why is someone looking for their car at the same time?!? You’re the worst!” (Clearly, calm had taken a back seat to my crazy. I clicked the remote again to turn the horn off and thought, “oh yeah, thanks person – thanks for turning off your horn at the same time”) I walked back into the building, explained the situation to the security person, they called a guy who called a guy and he said, “we didn’t tow your car, but I’m watching a video and see you pulled in.” Well, I knew I pulled in, because I was currently at this place. “Can you tell where I parked?” “No ma’am, but I see you getting out of the car.” “Mmm hmm.”

They then sent a guard to walk with me – very friendly laid back guy. I explained my predicament, showed him where the car had been (in my memory), and fussed. He asked whether I’d used the remote to try and locate it, so I clicked it for him, and there was no sound. “See! The car is missing!” So, we started at the top of the garage and walked each level while I clicked on the remote, but only around one area of the garage. He finally asked if I’d clicked in other parts of the garage. I eye-rolled out of his eyesight, clicked to prove a point (that his idea was dumb) and suddenly there was loud honking coming from an area I did not park in (again, according to my brain).

After 45 minutes, one “congratulations, you reached 10,000 steps,” one panicked text to the viola section of my orchestra, and my brain sending encouraging thoughts like, “be calm, this is early stages of dementia, you need to contact your GP tomorrow and ask for cognitive testing,” I found my car.

I thanked the guard and invited him to go home that night and mock me to his family and friends. “No, ma’am. I’m not going to do that.” “Sir, you have my permission. Please. I have it coming. You’re not going to hurt my feelings” He giggled a bit and said, “I’m just glad we found your car.”

Ugh.

A week later…

I’m at work picking up a work vehicle for a conference. I grab the keys, find it in our garage, open it up to confirm it has seats and a steering wheel (I love a good amenity), take a photo of the license plate, then another of the vehicle itself, because that’s how I roll, then I head back into the office since we weren’t leaving anytime soon. Early in the afternoon, I wheel my luggage over to where the vehicle was and there’s no vehicle. I check the photos. There’s no car like that in the row of cars. I check all the license plates, just in case the photo of the car was, y’know, wrong. I’m not sure how that would have been, but maybe I took a photo of the wrong car? I dunno. There’s no vehicle with that license plate. Great. My brain is screaming, “What is wrong with you?? This is why you can’t have nice things, and by nice things I mean cars, Beth! OMG!!!!”

Thankfully, a calm person (not me – I was obviously reminding myself I was heading to a nursing home to live out my final confused days probably muttering about cars) made a call only to learn that the car had been pulled. The folks had noticed a check engine light ahead of our trip, and they’d prepared a back-up vehicle.

Ugh – part two.

Now for a more light-hearted part to this story…

Roll back the story to the spot where I’d reached 10,000 steps and, yes, contacted the viola section with some drama filled texts – all sent about 10 minutes before we found my car. “The car is gone! I can’t find it! I’m not going to make it!” Very exciting stuff from my end. I was an hour behind when I needed to leave, and still had to drop by the house, let out my pup, feed the beasts, grab my viola and get to practice. I knew that to even try to make it, I’d have to take the toll roads, and I hate taking the toll roads from this location thanks to several left exits, quick lane changes, lanes suddenly ending and all that fun while driving up to 80 MPH. It stresses me out, and that day it stressed me out, but I managed to do it. All of it. And I arrived at practice with about 5 minutes to spare. Whew!

When I entered the practice room, my entire section greeted with whoops and applause.

I bowed! Like you do.

Later at break, a few asked, “Why did you get all that applause.” I smiled, “Oh, that? They know I’m an idiot and were celebrating me.” And they do, and they still keep me around.

They were super proud of me when I lost the second car, too.

So, there you go – a story!