A Pilgrimage to the Car

I had met my mom for lunch and logically parked near the restaurant. But after paying the check, she insisted that I accompany her back to her office because my life would not be complete without seeing a new piece of delightful furniture she had acquired. I dutifully followed her through the maze and commented politely on a chair that did, in fact, match the rest of her office. She drew me a map back to my car, and sent me on my way.

When I reached the second floor, I realized a few problems with the aforementioned map. The only buildings on the map were those in which turns needed to be executed, and not all of those bore names. Even her office building didn’t make a cameo. I debated whether to return to the elevators to go up and ask her for clarification. Laziness and doubt that a second chance would produce more information pushed me on my way. I walked back to the point where I was fairly certain we had entered the building, and pushed through the revolving doors. I attempted to orient myself with the street below, but realized that I was the exact distance from the street signs at which they only appear as fuzzy chalk markings. I decided that the best way to find my parking ramp was to just follow the hamster tunnels and hope that I hit one of the buildings on the map. I was forced to turn in buildings not mentioned by my document, and where no windows were present so that I could navigate by the heavens.

I fell in step with all of the business people scurrying to their offices, and watched a woman drag her daughter, who was clearly going somewhere enjoyable like the dentist’s office. I smiled at a man in a three-piece suit, meticulously kicking a bottle top along the carpet. If it failed to go straight, he would move to the side and kick it again, keeping constant forward progress.

I breathed a sigh of relief as I crossed under the sign for one of my mother’s chosen buildings. I squeezed through the glass door that the woman in front of me had failed to hold open and counted Starbucks number three since my journey’s beginning. I wondered if the people standing in line really liked coffee, or if they just liked the milk and flavoring used to drown out the coffee taste.

Confidently executing my right-hand turn, I stepped into the next hamster tube. If the glass were actually the colors that hamster tubes come in, the weather we’re hiding from would look a lot more enjoyable. Or else I would just feel trapped in ’70s sunglasses.

Suddenly, as I entered yet another of my mom’s buildings, my nose filled with a strong odor of artificially flavored popcorn. I had certainly been by here at least once today. A sign stapled to the ceiling by large poles directed me to my ramp. I scurried from the elevator across the cement slab that, while protected, seemed freezing compared with my route thus far. When my car started on the second try, I shifted focus to a second problem—whether I had three dollars in change to cover what I was short for the parking fee. I’m sure I had passed an ATM, but by the time I found it again, I would need six dollars more.