Because I'm Not Just ANYbody!

Last week I had Hubby's wheels because he had the kids and needed the car seats in my car. On my list of stops was a particular store to get part of a present for Charis. (I am sure her mother must think I have forgotten her, but truly not!) The store is located at a popular shopping area in Honolulu, with one of the most poorly designed parking garages. I pulled into the mouth of the garage, and gaped up at the fading black letters: WARNING SIX FOOT CLEARANCE. I tried to imagine I was six feet tall (hard to imagine since I am 5'1"). Would that make me taller than Hubby's car? My own car makes it in a seven foot clearance. What could I do now? I could back up, or I could chance it. I pulled into the garage and heard something between a CHINK! and a PING! Some part of his car made contact with the cement over head. Ohh this was bad. Now I had the option to park in a tight space, or head down to the basement, or farther overhead. Through the grate of the parking garage, the basement looked empty, so I headed down again. CHINK! PING! Double OH NO! I barely made it into the lower level of the garage and suddenly felt claustrophobic and hit the panic button. I needed to get out of here. Hubby was going to kill me.

Down at the other opening of the garage, I saw an exit and the ceiling of the garage must have been an extra two or three feet higher. Perfect. This was my way out. I pulled down to the end of the garage, and came face to face with a single chain link and three groundskeepers. They told me I should try to get out the way I came in, since this was just for groundskeepers. Fine. I swept into a large three point turn, and drove up to the way I entered the basement level. Gingerly I pulled the first third of the vehicle up the hill. Claustrophobia set in again. I pulled the emergency brake, jumped out, stared at the opening, and again stared at the vehicle. How had I slid down into the basement? How in the world was it possible for me to fit on the decline but not on the incline? I did not want to find out. Moreover, I did not want Hubby to have to find out! I popped the emergency brake, hit reverse, listened to the annoying back up sensor,and charged back to the other end of the garage. I begged the groundskeepers to let me out, but they said I had to check with the boss. He was just pulling away. I pulled my car right up to the chain link, threw the vehicle in Park, and tried hopelessly to find the head groundskeeper to unlock the chain.

A bicycle security guy rode up on his bike toward me. He asked me what was the problem. I explained there was no way I was going to get this vehicle up to the next level without scraping the top of the roof rack. Never mind I had already done it twice. He asked me how in the world I had driven over the single chain link that was two feet in the air, where we were standing. Didn't I get that was to keep people out? I rolled my eyes. Hubby's car doesn't have that much muscle. It's no Knight Rider. It doesn't fly. No, no, no. The vehicle fit on the way down. I had driven into the basement. I just couldn't get myself back up, even though I already tried. Young bicycle boy eyed the car, then eyed me. "Well, how about if we both try again?" Was he for real? I am insured on the car, I am married to the owner, and I had already potentially damaged the car. One way to get myself into deeper trouble was to let his little testosterone, muscle man self get behind the wheel and prove what I already knew. It wasn't going to fit. "No," I said sternly. He didn't like that. I am not saying every security guy is like this, but you give some people a bicycle, a helmet, and a walkie talkie and they think they have got you. So then, he started to interrogate me.

"What were you thinking driving down here?" he shot at me. Did he think I was really going to answer his rhetorical question? There was no need to answer. I dismissed his question. "What does it matter why I came down here? The point is I am down here now, and there is only one way for me to get out. The groundskeepers said I could get out. All I needed to do was ask the boss. I am NOT driving this car up the ramp when I know I am not going to make it." He didn't look at me, but pinched the speaker on his shoulder, explained the situation to someone across air waves, and asked if I could be let out. The person on the other end patched back that yes, I could be let through. To my surprise, he dug into his pocket, pulled out a key, and unlocked the pad lock. Why had he made this so difficult, I wondered silently.

But bicycle boy wasn't going to let this go. Nooo. "You know, we just don't do this for anybody." So I took one look at him and said, "Well, I'm not just ANYbody. I am the LOST star!" He turned and looked at me slowly. "You're the LOST star?" I informed him I was going to be on April 24. He glared at me, and in a mocking voice said, "LOST, what's that?" My last words were, "Yeah, whatever," as I climbed behind the wheel. I drove off, parked in an outdoor space, completed my shopping, and headed home.
A few minutes after I arrived, Hubby asked me how I liked driving his car. "I don't," I answered a little too quickly. He raised his eyebrows at me. "Well, I want to tell you the whole story, and I want to be honest, but I don't want to get in trouble." His mouth made a small "O." I recounted my misadventure at the parking garage. He didn't say much. When I finished, he said he wanted to check out his car. I insisted I was going with him to look. I grabbed the two kids, and Hubby looked at me inquisitively. "Well, I figure you can't get too mad at me in front of the kids," I smiled. He stood up on the runner and looked at the overhead rack. He popped a piece of black rubber molding back into place of the roof rack. He jumped down, and started laughing. There was nothing damaged. He couldn't believe that the guy actually thought I seriously might be the LOST star. So that's the running joke in our house now. I'm not just ANYbody!