I reached the garage quickly after the last song finished at the park. My hand went to my back pocket for the parking stub, the one I had put there when I first got out of the car. Instead of paper or even spare change, all my fingers felt was denim. I patted myself down, looked in my bag and on the ground, but it wasn't there.
On the ticket machine was a button marked "Lost Tickets". I closed one eye, scrunched my face and gingerly pressed it. The screen displayed a message, "Please pay $15.00." I did a double take. With the ticket, parking would've been free. Now I was faced with the prospect of paying big dollars.
In disbelief, I retraced my steps. Back I went to the park, to the various places I stood or sat. Back I went to the juice bar where I had a guava smoothie. Then back to Peggy Sue's where I had a caesar salad with chicken. (An aside... That makes three salad-only dinners in a row. What does it mean?). The missing ticket was nowhere to be found. I patted myself down one more time to make sure I hadn't overlooked anything. It was the last futile attempt before accepting defeat.
There was one other option. I could speak to the attendant on duty and explain my situation. I dreaded doing it. I would rather be an idiot without anyone else knowing than feel like an idiot in front of other people. It's at these moments when I realize the size of my ego, the one I tell myself doesn't exist.
I had to stop being afraid, so I spoke to the attendant. At first, he didn't budge. I normally would have surrendered then and sulked back to machine. But I persisted and asked if he could make an exception. I admitted there was no way to prove when I had parked, but it seemed like an awfully steep price for free parking.
Either the parking garage gods were smiling upon me or the attendant was being nice (I choose to believe the latter). He told me there might be another way. Someone had dropped off a lost ticket from a few days ago. He asked if I would be willing to pay it in lieu of the fine. I agreed and thanked him profusely. He inserted the lost ticket into the machine, which then displayed, "Please pay $1.50."
I was relieved. It wasn't free, but it was much better than the alternative. Chalk up a minor victory over my anxieties.
