After Dinner Fun

by GfG on November 10, 2011 · 3 comments

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After finishing a lovely dinner with friends, we were still chatting when one of them said, “Mindy, isn’t that where the car was?”

Quickly panning the area, again and again…. I realized the parking spot was ours and it actually was empty.  My jaw dropped.   We all sorta stood there in the parking lot baffled.  We even stood in the spot and waited.  Like the car was magically going to appear.  It didn’t.


As soon as we came out of our stupor, Brooke called mall security.  They sent a twelve year old boy in a uniform to talk to us.  He was sheepish and stood there with his hands in his pockets wondering why were so shocked.  It was a no-parking spot after all.  What?!

We walked over to the spot again and sure enough you could just make out some yellow diagonal lines.  And two faded words: no parking.  The spots next to ours (there were three parking spots… ours was the middle one) had some faded lines on them, but the cars were happily parked and going no where.

Our car, on the other hand, was twenty-eight minutes away (as the crow flies) behind a locked gate in a lot with other sad and lonely cars.  Little Boy Security Guard told us the middle one is the only one actually a no parking spot.

We calmly talked to the twelve year old for a few minutes (and told him his voice would break soon, no fear) and then asked to speak to the supervisor.  Actually, Brooke asked.  I think I was still stunned.  I may or may not have had my mouth open the whole time and may or may not have kept saying, “No stinkin’ way.”  As we waited and kept pleading our case, the sweet little boy in dress up security guard clothes said, “I agree with you.  I’ve been telling them they need to repaint those lines.  I know you can’t really see it.”  So, the supervisor came.

Pretty sure he was fifteen years old. Neither of the boys looked old enough to shave, much less deal with trouble makers at the mall, in which category we had just landed.

As we talked to the supervisor, we all snapped photos with our phones.  It was like a crime scene, minus the oversize Maglights.   The wise old supervisor gave us the number of the head of security (maybe he is old enough to vote?) and the name of the place holding our car hostage.

So… at 9:30pm, we loaded up, three GPSs in hand, not so eager to see parts of The Big City we had never seen before, yet willing.

Half an hour later, we were lost.  The GPS was telling us one thing, but there was not a building or light or car lot to be seen.  Calling the towing business, I told the guy where we were and said, “We are on the access road headed north and the highway is on our right.”  There was a long pause.  I repeated my statement so he could give us succinct instructions and help.

He said, “How is that even possible?  Where are you?”


So, we hung up on him and found our way back to the first highway.  Of course, by then I was about to get sick.  Seems my motion sickness has gotten worse.  Awesome.  I didn’t know it since the only one I really ride with is My Sweetie.  Maybe my stomach is used to my suburban?  Or his driving?

In a Burger King parking lot, we switched so that I was driving Laura’s car.  About three minutes into my new pilot position she says,”Oh, I’m so glad you are driving. My night blindness was starting to bug me.”


As we approached the highway the mean ol’ towing impound lot was located on, we took a left instead of a right.  I almost missed the third exit to the secret highway, but switched lanes (or crossed a lane or two… whatever) just in time.  It was at that minute I commended the girls on letting me be the driver ten minutes earlier because we would have been paying for a car detailing and shampoo if I was riding through all of the adventure in the passenger seat.

Finally, the rows and rows of vehicles loomed before our eyes as we drove over the hill.

Thankfully, it wasn’t midnight yet.  The towing center is open twenty-four hours, but they charge more after midnight.  I guess they charge more for being open when they really don’t want to be.  Makes sense.

I suddenly felt like I was at a prison.  The signs were quite foreboding.  The driver ONLY was allowed inside the secret netherworld of the impound lot.  The gate buzzed open after the customer (loose word?) before us finished and Brooke gave her name, blood type and swore she didn’t have a gun.

Laura and I waited, hoping Brooke hadn’t actually be taken to some kind of biological testing site for women who don’t see faded yellow paint on the ground at night.  Possibly research on those over forty years old.

Gratefully, Brooke appeared.  Less $293.  You heard that right, two-hundred ninety-three dollars!  Egad.  I think I know the business My Sweetie should go into now.  All we need is a piece of land far from anyone or anywhere on a secret highway and a tow truck.

A few minutes later, she drove out and we left.

The adventure isn’t over, though, because the mall and the justice of the peace will be hearing from Brooke and Mr. Brooke about all of this.  And three women over forty are armed with their phone cameras, opinions and statements from twelve- year old security guards.

I’m pretty stinkin sure Brooke’s gonna get her money back.

And I’m gonna be googling to find a purse size tool for detecting faded yellow paint (aka: secret no parking zone/spot paint).

 How’s your week going?  Ever been towed?

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