Member-only story
The Day My Car Disappeared
Mulan’s carpark story reminded me of three times I haven’t been able to find my car. The most traumatic was the day I had lunch with my ex-teaching friends at a shopping centre I was unfamiliar with.
I parked carefully facing a half yellow wall not far from the entrance. After a long lunch, I exited. I knew exactly where I had parked the car. It wasn’t there. Was I going crazy? Was I suffering some sort of amnesia or worse still, dementia?
I walked and walked every aisle for more than an hour. I had worn new shoes since I wasn’t planning on walking far — the blisters were beginning to burn. Finally, defeated, I went to the office. They had a computer system which reports which car spaces were filled. They entered my number plate to identify exactly where my car was parked. Nothing! My car had disappeared.
Two security guys left me sitting in the office with a glass of water. They mounted an organised search. I described my car — a blue station wagon — not a tiny car that could hide behind other cars.
They returned twenty minutes later. No car! They were looking at me as if I were a little crazy — I had taken my shoes off — so I went to show them where I had left my car, and there it was! I had walked past this spot several times and so had they.
Had it been stolen and a few hours later, returned?
This story isn’t funny, but the joke is!
