Dude, where’s my car?
On the Friday after Thanksgiving, I drove to D.C. for the weekend. I like to make a joke that while everyone is at the mall on Black Friday, I’m at the National Mall, a one-and-a-half mile stretch of museums.
After circling around the Washington Monument, I found a spot along Jefferson Avenue, precariously close, but not at, a handicapped spot. I was parked next to a museum with a flagpole waving a 4-H flag.
Of course, I went to the farthest museum. The National Gallery of Art, East Building, to see an Impressionist exhibit. I was walking around in the museum for so long the paintings looked blurry.
That’s an Impressionist joke.
Around 5 o’clock, I walked back to my car, or, rather, the spot near the handicapped spot. It wasn’t there. I deduced that I parked too close to the handicapped sign and called the Non-Emergency Police number. When I gave the operator my license plate number she said, “We don’t have a record of it being towed. It might have been stolen.”
Dunt Dunt Da!
Cue the dramatic sound effects.
The non-emergency response operator called 911 and soon two police officers were dispatched to meet with me. I pointed and said, “I parked here next to the handicapped sign.” Then, I pointed to the now-barren flagpole, and said, “They must have taken the flag down.”
The dark-haired cop said, “They usually leave them up.” I said, “There was a 4-H flag waving on there earlier, but I parked next to this handicapped sign, but not so close that I should’ve been towed. See this pile of rented scooters? They were stacked up in a similar fashion. I am sure I was across from that museum.”
The light-haired cop took my key fob and said he’d drive around and check for it. I stayed with the dark-haired cop to fill out a police report while fretting about how I was going to get back to the hotel and/or to Pittsburgh.
As I was filling out the police report, question 12 stated, “What time did the incident take place?” I looked at my phone and the map app, which was still on the screen, read, “Parked car 5.5 miles away.” Right then, the other officer called and said, “I’m on Seventh Street and Jefferson, and I found the car.”
For the record, I was with the dark-haired cop at 14th and Jefferson, a half-mile away.
The dark-haired officer drove me to the real location, where there was a handicapped sign, a pile of rented scooters and a flagpole. The location was nearly identical to the other with one exception, the flagpole had a 4-H flag flying on it.
I said to the cops, “Hey, remember the time you had to drive some moron to his car because he didn’t remember where he parked?”
They laughed.
If you’re wondering, I was legitimately far enough away from the handicapped spot to avoid being towed, but a half-mile from where I thought I parked.