I Swear I Parked Here

Few places in California are as hallowed and sacred as the two inches your car might creep into a driveway. I never realized how sacred until yesterday, after I had spent a solid hour walking through Mar Vista in search of my car.  I finally remembered that Big Brother tracks where I last parked, at which point I found the location and stood for a good five minutes in the spot, waiting for it to get beamed back from the Voyager or wherever it went to. It was that surreal.  I knew, maybe, in the deep recesses of my mind that it had been towed.  Surely, my Honda Fit would not be the first car to steal.  But it took a while to accept this fact, much like death and the 2016 election.  The entire Car Tow Experience cost me $265, plus $65 for the ticket and $15 for the flowers I need to buy for the old lady who I yelled at.

“This is why California is a horrible place to live!” I cried, all super dramatic.

“Why are you yelling at me, I didn’t do anything,” she said.

“Didn’t you call the police?”

“No, I just saw them tow it. Do you need a ride?”

“Yes.”

I cried in her car while we drove looking for the pound.
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“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” I said.

“Oh, it’s OK. I understand.”

“How long ago did this happen?”

“Oh, just an hour ago. It was really just bad luck.”

Car Tow Experience unleashed every fear and sadness that dwells inside of me. Not to mention, my sense of living in a harsh and unforgiving world, minus the Sweet Old Lady.  The guy who got my car out was nice, too.

“People are horrible,” I told him as I got my keys.

“Not all of them,” he said. “You seem nice.”