adventures in the park

I lose cars in parking lots. I park them neatly between the yellow lines, slide out, lock the doors, do my shopping and when I return, I can not find my car unless I park right in front of the exit.
Pushing a loaded car of sacks, tired from shopping, I emerge from the store, blink the sun out of my eyes and try to remember whether I am parked to the left or right this time.
I think about it. I vaguely remember coming in the door at the right, so the car should be parked in that general direction. I begin wandering aimlessly toward the right.
Did I park two or three rows over? How deep into the parking lot was it? Seems like I found a spot closer than this … no that was last week.
I walk further.
About halfway down the line I discover our mini-van hiding behind some stranger’s giant van or fancy pick-up truck two parking lanes over. How does my mini-van always end up beside a larger vehicle? I park it beside motorcycle, sedans, sub-compacts and when I come out, my van ha found another big buddy.
Squeezing my way between cars, shopping carts and buggy corrals, I finally reach the mini-van, unlock the back door and unload the shopping cart.
Compact and miniature cars are even worse. I drive them because of the good gas mileage. However, our current sports car is so small, it feels like I should fold it up and stick it in my hip pocket when I reach the store.
Since it doesn’t fold so well, I park it. But either other cars come along to help it hide or it really does sneak away on its on as soon as I turn to go in the store.
I can spot the mini-van across the parking lot once I get past the van or truck it’s hiding behind, but with the little bitty white sports car, I am almost past it before I find it.
This car could hide under a semi-truck with no problem. I tower over it about three feet. Lengthwise it must be one of the smallest cars on the road. But at least I do recognize it as a car we own.
This white wisp of a car is easier to find than the gray thing we used to have. For the four years we owned it, I was continually surprised to see it. I probably drove the slippery little eel some 40,000 miles during these years. In spite of our long association, a true friendship never developed between us. No matter how many times I drove it, I did not recognize it in the parking lots as my transportation.
“Oh, hello, car, have I seen you before? Oh, is that you again? I say, where did you come from anyway? You do look a bit familiar. Why yes, tat is my daughter’s favorite jacket in the back seat. You must belong to me.”
The key fit the lock, but the reality never fit the memory. The next time I’d go shopping, it would happen again … even when I parked it right by the store entrance. I would emerge and startle in the realization, “Oh yeah, that’s my car right there.”
I was relieve when that car was replaced by one I could recognize … and I will as soon as remember which direction to turn to begin my search.