The Parking Garage

I have a confession: I have no sense of direction. None. Nada. I got nothin’. And, you may be thinking, OK, big deal? So, you say…keep reading…

Last week I had an appointment with a doctor whose office is in the Houston Medical Center. Now, if you’ve read my above confession and the previous sentence and ARE NOT gasping for air, you’re clearly new around here. To me, the Medical Center is like Gotham City on the Batman movies, except with people walking around in white jackets and scrubs. It’s terrifying. I’ve been seeing this particular doctor for about 3 years now, but started at another location. I’ve been to this new location 3 times…and, 3 times I’ve had to call the office and say something like,

“So, I’m standing on the sidewalk on Fannin in front of the Methodist Outpatient Center. Where are you? I’m completely lost…”

Having to make that call once is bad enough, but 3 times? Well, I’ve thought of wearing a mask. So, I have to build an extra 30 minutes into my trip to account for the getting lost part of the trip, along with remembering to wear comfortable walking shoes, cool clothing, etc.

Anyway, this latest appointment went exactly the same as the others, except this time I was convinced I had at least found the right parking garage. Uh-huh…

I left my doctor feeling good about the appointment and fairly calm about finding my car. The red flag that I refused to see was that the sign closest to my parking space read

“Level 7, Stairwell 3”

Which was OK, except for the part where I walked down the 7 flights of stairs (trying to get all my steps in, you know), only to have to go down a different flight of stairs about the same amount of flights to get to the ground level. That definitely should’ve been a sign.

So, I walk into the parking garage, up the SEVEN flight of stairs and start to look for “Stairwell 3.” Which I couldn’t find. For a long time. A VERY long time. About 45 minutes. It was like someone took the entire stairwell out of the garage.

I tried to remain calm. I really did. But, after the 45 minutes, I started to panic. And, crying. And, praying loudly. Just about the time I was about to just sit down in the middle of the parking lot, next to an oil stain and give up, I remembered,

Hey! I have an alarm on my key!

So, I started walking up and down repeatedly pressing the alarm key. Numerous times, I’m really surprised the police didn’t come.Now, here’s the best part: I finally could HEAR the alarm on my car and SEE my car, but I couldn’t figure out how to get to it! Seriously. I couldn’t get to the car. I walked up to the next aisle and down to the next aisle, but couldn’t get to my car. So, I did what any hysterical, sweaty, weepy, Texas woman would do: I decided to climb over the brick wall.

Let me just stop right here and tell you two important things: first, the brick wall was almost as tall as I am, and two, I was wearing a skirt. Yep, wearing a skirt. But, hey, I was desperate, OK? So, I backed way up from the wall, ran as fast as I could, (in a skirt and flip-flops) and jumped as high as I could, and…couldn’t get my chubby little body over the wall.

Well. I’m no quitter! For the second try, I backed even farther away from the wall, closed my eyes, said a little prayer and ran as fast as I could and THREW my body at the top of that wall! And, it worked. Of course, both quad muscles started to spasm and I got dirt all over me, but I made it, by golly! And, that’s why I’m here today and not lost in a parking garage in the Houston Medical Center.

I hope you’ve all enjoyed your little laugh for the day and the visual I’ve given you of a 48-year-old chubby girl flying over a brick wall in a parking garage. You’re welcome.


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