Jeremiah's School of Levitation
Upsy-Daisy!
Thursday, May 18, 2006
A Middle Age Moment
Sometimes, I drive my white car to work. Not usually though, because, most of the time, I take the bus. Taking the bus is partly an environmental awareness thing, sure. It's also a "finally I get to read" sort of thing too. And, in many ways, it's also an economical thing. Parking in Downtown Great Northwest Metropolis is ridiculously expensive. Sometimes, I think the prices are a joke between the lot owners, just to see what people will pay to park.
"Hey Frank, guess what? I charged 6 bucks an hour to park yesterday, and I got a full lot!"
"That's nothing, Joe. I charged 6.50 an hour, AND, if they wanted to be confident that I wouldn't tow them anyway to make space for another car, I charged them 10 bucks an hour for insurance!"
"Whoa, Frank. You got me there! Alright! Let's go eat overpriced food at a frou frou downtown deli now!"
"Okay!"
(High Fives all around).
So,anyway, the bus is a much better option. So, yesterday, that's what I did. I came out of work at the end of the day, waited for the bus in the glorious white sunshine we had yesterday, filtering through the trees in starburst patterns, and I got on the bus, and even got a seat, and it was NOT next to somebody clipping their nails or eating their acne (these are actual things that I've heard folks had to deal with on the bus). I called my mom and talked to her as the bus hit the freeway and, after that, I took out my notebook and read some of my writing while the cute blonde girl across from me stared at me so hard that I almost put my notebook up to cover my face, to deflect some of those stare rays, and to hide my face as I cursed at her for deciding to wait until AFTER I got married to stare at me like that .
I got to my bus stop, got off, headed home, did some air guitar to the Fountains of Wayne tune on my iPod, thought about my son's baseball game that evening, got home, said hello to everyone, got my son ready for the game, climbed into our van and started it up. We couldn't find my son's batting gloves and my wife asked if they were in the white car. I told her probably not.
And, then she uttered the words: "By the way, where IS the white car?"
I sat up straight in the seat. "Holy SHIT!"
"No," she said.
"Yeah." I said. The white car was, of course, still downtown WHERE I PARKED IT THIS MORNING WHEN I FREAKING DROVE TO WORK!!
I couldn't believe it. I had completely forgotten I drove to work, and, the real pitiful thing was, I was just going on forgetting it. If my wife hadn't mentioned it, I wonder if I would have just kept on with my day, dottering around, drooling on myself, peeing in my pants, and finally falling asleep in my rocker before, sometime around 3 in the morning, I woke up startled from a dream about leaving my car parked downtown and then, realized, that it wasn't all a dream; I actually AM in the early stages of dementia.
So, after some "discussion", we decided I should stay for the game, because I was the official scorer (there, that's a perfect job for someone who can't remember that they dragged a 2,000 pound hunk of metal downtown just a few hours ago--being responsible for a baseball score--I'm surprised that I didn't have our team winning 317 to "pi"), and that we would all go downtown with Daddy and drop him off at the hospital and say goodbye. No. We should all go get the car with Daddy and get in a few laughs at his expense.
So, now, of course, I'm beginning to think that all the stuff that I thought someone stole or that I thought fell out of my pocket unnoticed, is actually just sitting in a perfectly sensible place, exactly where I put it. So, maybe I should look for my "lost" pen in my desk drawer, or look for my "lost" baseball mitt in the shed, or look for my "lost" mind inside of my wife's mind. Well, actually, maybe my brain is best kept with her because, knowing me, if some parking lot attendant said that I'd have to hand over my brain for the parking fee, I'd do it. Come to think of it, that's likely what I did yesterday...
"Hey Frank, guess what? I charged 6 bucks an hour to park yesterday, and I got a full lot!"
"That's nothing, Joe. I charged 6.50 an hour, AND, if they wanted to be confident that I wouldn't tow them anyway to make space for another car, I charged them 10 bucks an hour for insurance!"
"Whoa, Frank. You got me there! Alright! Let's go eat overpriced food at a frou frou downtown deli now!"
"Okay!"
(High Fives all around).
So,anyway, the bus is a much better option. So, yesterday, that's what I did. I came out of work at the end of the day, waited for the bus in the glorious white sunshine we had yesterday, filtering through the trees in starburst patterns, and I got on the bus, and even got a seat, and it was NOT next to somebody clipping their nails or eating their acne (these are actual things that I've heard folks had to deal with on the bus). I called my mom and talked to her as the bus hit the freeway and, after that, I took out my notebook and read some of my writing while the cute blonde girl across from me stared at me so hard that I almost put my notebook up to cover my face, to deflect some of those stare rays, and to hide my face as I cursed at her for deciding to wait until AFTER I got married to stare at me like that .
I got to my bus stop, got off, headed home, did some air guitar to the Fountains of Wayne tune on my iPod, thought about my son's baseball game that evening, got home, said hello to everyone, got my son ready for the game, climbed into our van and started it up. We couldn't find my son's batting gloves and my wife asked if they were in the white car. I told her probably not.
And, then she uttered the words: "By the way, where IS the white car?"
I sat up straight in the seat. "Holy SHIT!"
"No," she said.
"Yeah." I said. The white car was, of course, still downtown WHERE I PARKED IT THIS MORNING WHEN I FREAKING DROVE TO WORK!!
I couldn't believe it. I had completely forgotten I drove to work, and, the real pitiful thing was, I was just going on forgetting it. If my wife hadn't mentioned it, I wonder if I would have just kept on with my day, dottering around, drooling on myself, peeing in my pants, and finally falling asleep in my rocker before, sometime around 3 in the morning, I woke up startled from a dream about leaving my car parked downtown and then, realized, that it wasn't all a dream; I actually AM in the early stages of dementia.
So, after some "discussion", we decided I should stay for the game, because I was the official scorer (there, that's a perfect job for someone who can't remember that they dragged a 2,000 pound hunk of metal downtown just a few hours ago--being responsible for a baseball score--I'm surprised that I didn't have our team winning 317 to "pi"), and that we would all go downtown with Daddy and drop him off at the hospital and say goodbye. No. We should all go get the car with Daddy and get in a few laughs at his expense.
So, now, of course, I'm beginning to think that all the stuff that I thought someone stole or that I thought fell out of my pocket unnoticed, is actually just sitting in a perfectly sensible place, exactly where I put it. So, maybe I should look for my "lost" pen in my desk drawer, or look for my "lost" baseball mitt in the shed, or look for my "lost" mind inside of my wife's mind. Well, actually, maybe my brain is best kept with her because, knowing me, if some parking lot attendant said that I'd have to hand over my brain for the parking fee, I'd do it. Come to think of it, that's likely what I did yesterday...
Elliot, 8:59 AM
4 Back at me:
I'm sorry....
I laughed at your story, because I'm losing my mind in the same way. Not my CAR, but other things, like groceries, or my glasses that are ON MY FACE. Yeah, middle age bites. But it makes for funny stories!
That is freaking hilarious. I've done things like that, but it is mostly forgetting which parking lot...
It's not middle age... My cousin's 20-something room-mate did the same thing... And discovered it only 3 days later. When he went back to the car, it was covered in grafitti and the windows were smashed in. Sucks to be him.
