Wrong Way Corrigan Had Nothing on Me

I couldn’t find my car in the parking lot at the Wilmington Amtrak station tonight. I spent 10 minutes walking around the garage thinking, ‘Gee, I don’t remember angled parking.” But it was early when I parked my car this morning. Finally, I gave up and walked to the office.

“I seem to have misplaced my car,” I told the attendant.

“Let me see your ticket,” he said. I thought maybe they cataloged the cars during the day.

“That in the parking garage on the other side of the highway,” he said.

[Blush]

You’d have to know the Wilmington station. It’s small. really small. And I remembered — belatedly — that I didn’t have to walk outside to get into the station. The one I went to required me to cross two major streets. Plus, I even tried to prepay my parking by using an automated machine. I put my ticket stub in three times to no avail. My thinking — hey, the machine must be malfunctioning. Never occurred to me that I was in a completely wrong garage.

Ugh. My sense of direction rivals Wrong Way Corrigan. Good thing my talk went well. It didn’t require me to give directions.