When I Lost My Car at the Airport

Airport Parking LotMy job required constant travel around the country and you would think by now I would have traveling down. But you would be wrong. I’m running late, as usual, because I had one too many at dinner the night before with my fiancé and his best friend. His friend was visiting for the weekend and they were headed to a major collegiate football game. Meanwhile I was headed to Boston for work.

I speed down Highway 121 in Dallas, weaving in and out of traffic, frantic I was going to miss my flight. My annoyance is running high, I should know better by now. My eyes dart between the clock in my ’97 Jetta to the traffic. It is going to be close, but I should be ok. One of the benefits of my job is the ability to park my vehicle in the short term parking garage. The large corporation I work for has granted us this perk since we are traversing the United States all week long. It is a nice benefit, and saves me some much needed minutes when I am running late – which is every time I travel. When will I learn to leave earlier? Probably never.

I hit the gas and zip under the welcome signs, barely even registering them anymore. My mind is already three steps ahead – park car, grab crap, run inside, make flight by the skin of my teeth. I have already checked and my boarding terminal is C. The sign pointing to the C garage is first up. I bank a hard left and pull into the circular entrance at mach 80. I then learn why the entrance to the garage is a circular ramp.

The road is wet with morning dew, I am going too fast. I hit my brakes hard and my tires lock. Holy Shit! I nail the curb going at least 35 MPHs. Fuck. I’m gonna miss my flight.

I realize immediately there is an issue. My steering wheel is not cooperating and the tires are no longer turning left, or at all, as I need them to. I limp the car into the parking garage, I don’t have time for this shit! I find a spot and pull the car in on a wing and a prayer. It is parked like a drunken fool had driven it, which based upon my hangover was half way true.

I do the only thing I can think of. I call and leave the following message on our home machine (this is pre cell phone days).

“Uh, Hi Babe! So there was a bit of an issue with the car. I parked it at the airport but I will need you to get it towed! It’s not a big deal, just a slight problem with the tire. Thanks!”

I hang up and walk straight onto my flight. When I arrive in Boston I meet up with some friends and head out for the night. Again, I leave a loving message for my man.

“Hi Babe! I made it here. Headed out, hope you got my message about the car. The spare keys are somewhere in the kitchen! Good night!”

My fiancé and his friend listened to that message numerous times but could not make out what terminal I had parked the car in (probably because I forgot to say). The Dallas-Ft. Worth airport is large, very large. This created an issue for locating my car. The next morning he drove his friend to the airport and spent hours walking around the three terminal parking garages hitting the panic button in an attempt to find my vehicle.

Eventually he found it, and then called the towing company. The only problem…the tow truck could not fit into the garage so my betrothed was forced to push the vehicle out of the spot and to the entrance of the garage. The final verdict was I had hit the curb so hard I broke the bearings in my tire. The lovely man at Volkswagen then informed my guy that I was most likely doing 35+ when I hit that curb, and not the 5 MPH as I had claimed. Thanks dick head.

Though this was the first dance with tire issues with this vehicle it wasn’t the last (the next one was the other tire for the record). And now when we travel he forces me to get to the damn airport at least an hour before boarding, total pain in the ass.



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  1. Damn, girl.
    In related news, I really believe that finding your way through an airport (from parking to terminal) is so challenging sometimes, it should be part of the high school curriculum along with How to Not Be a Dick in Public.

  2. Dick head fink. What purpose did it serve to tell the truth when the little itty bitty white lie was totally plausible and remained unchallenged? I once lost my car in a crowded parking lot. When asked by someone if they could have my spot I asked them to drive around with me and find it. Their car was cleaner than mine (meaning they didn’t have gum on the seats or goldfish on the floor) so it was kind of disappointing… Other than that, win/win.