Another Parking Flashback

Finally remembered where I parked the car.

You know, it's pretty remarkable that I do not have anxiety attacks whenever I leave my car in a parking lot. I've written about at least one of my experiences in a parking garage. Oh, yeah, and then there was the time I ripped off the side mirror. And those other times. Here's another tale.

The job I had in Colorado involved a great deal of travel; I was out of town for a week of every month for a spell there. The Denver airport was about a 45-minute drive from our home, so I usually drove up and flew from there. But that required parking.

Early on, in an effort to be frugal, I decided to park off-site. I was in a rush, of course, and neglected to write down which section of the lot I had parked in. Arriving back after several jam-packed days away, I stepped off the shuttle bus at the spot where I was sure I had parked.

Nope. No sign of our car. (Our car, I should note, did not have an audible lock so I couldn't use sonar to find it.)

I walked and walked and walked, lugging my suitcase and carry-on behind me. It seemed like at least half an hour, but it was probably less.

The sun set. It began to rain.

Guys may not get this, but I was also anxious because I was female, alone, in heels, in a dark, isolated place. Anything could happen. I could get abducted. I could end up on the cover of the Enquirer: Woman Disappears From Parking Lot, Body Found In Drainage Ditch.

Even without that fear, coming home after a business trip is, I find, a really emotional time. You're so close to home and love and comfort that any delay is just wrenching. I was very close to crying when I finally, finally saw our car.

After that, I made a point to write down where I had parked, even if I was in a hurry. But it was nevertheless the last time I ever parked off-site. In fact, I switched to the Colorado Springs airport so I could just take a taxi.