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“Wait, aren’t there like a million people that go to thatcomthing?” I jested, mispronouncing the name for the sole purpose of messing with her. “What would the chances of you running into him even be? Like one in a thousand? There’sthatmany dorks there?” I chuckled to myself, losing interest in the duvet and moving on to more important things like picking a hangnail.
Ignoring my insult, I heard her hesitate and then there was a sound like she was covering the phone with a frantic hand. When her voice came back on, she sighed, “Probably more like one in ten.”
“No shit?”
“Yes, shit. Now are you going to get your ass down here? I’ve already got a pass for you and it will be available at will call.” Loud voices and collective screams muffled her. “Thanks, Luce; you’re a lifesaver! See you in an hour!” And then she hung up.
An hour? I don’t know what planet she thought she was on, but between the time I needed to get ready, drive into San Diego, and eventually find her, we were looking at least several hours.
It was her ex for shit’s sake. How bad could it possibly be if I didn’t make her rigid (and might I add impossible) timeline?
I’d get there when I’d get there.Meh.
Luxuriously, I hadtaken the time to shave my legs and lather my body with some rando lotion that smelled like summer, the beach, and hitting third base with your crush all rolled into one.
There was a trendy new kimono hanging in my closet. Having not even clipped off the tags, I decided today was the day to christen that bad boy. Pairing it with distressed denim shorts and a figure fitting camisole, I ran my fingers through my long blonde beach waves, fluffing and separating them precisely to achieve that un-precise look. Because, you know, it took a lot of work to look effortless.
I stacked a few gold bangles around my wrist and checked my reflection one last time before hitting the road. Before pulling out of my designated parking place at our condo, I pulled up the traffic app on my phone.
“Sweet Jesus,” I exclaimed to nobody, seeing as I was solo in my adorable little Honda HR-V.
To be honest, I don’t know why I was surprised to see a solid block of red heading north if I took the East Harbor Drive route. Even though it was Saturday, California traffic had a reputation for a reason. Ordinarily, it would only take around fifteen minutes from where I lived in Chula Vista, but today? No such luck.
“Welp, looks like we’re taking a detour, Barry,” I voiced, patting my steering wheel. My car was white, so I named him Barry…White. E said it was ridiculous to name inanimate objects, but I knew better. To me, everything had a soul and the more you treated things affectionally—older sister notwithstanding—you got back what you received.
By the time I had made it into the city, the GPS chirped at me, instructing me to the parking garage located under the Convention Center. Excited at the notion to be able to park in a covered-out-of-the-sun area, I continued.
Many police officers with orange batons were in the streets directing people. Pulling into the right lane, I got my first glimpse of the sandwich board sign sitting right in the middle of the road.
Parking garage FULL. Prepaid passes use left lane.
What the hell? E didn’t warn me that the lot would be full.
A horn blared behind me, the driver throwing their arms up in annoyance.
“Settle down, asshat…” I muttered. I was beginning to realize I talked a lot when I was alone.
I looked ahead of me to the striped bar attached to the parking lot attendant booth. It was down and would remain that way unless I had a freaking paid pass.
My mouth felt like it had cotton in it and my cheeks suddenly felt like someone had placed a George Foreman grill over them.
My pits grew clammy.
I hated being on the spot when it appeared that I was wrong. I wasn’t wrong, just misinformed. And maybe a little green to the ways of parking downtown.
Turning in my seat, I looked at the sea of cars behind me that was reminiscent of a zombie evacuation route. I’d seenIndependence Day. I knew what was up. The only difference was that everyone was trying to getinnotout.
With my head still turned, and the gears in my brain trying to figure out what to do, there was a rather no-nonsense knock on my window. I squealed in surprise, ready to give one of these jerks a piece of my sweaty mind. Seriously, though, who would actually get out of their car at a time like this?
I turned and my inner voice died immediately. “Oh. Hello, officer,” I addressed evenly, deciding it was in my best interest not to piss off a cop. I couldn’t discern if it was better that it was an officer and I had to play polite, or the fact that I was looking to throw down with a civilian.
“You’re blocking traffic, miss.”
I’ll take Obvious Situations for $200, Alex.
Steeling my breath and swallowing my sarcasm, I asked him what he’d like me to do in such a conundrum. I was eager to hear his solution because as of that moment, I didn’t see one.
The policeman’s eyes were shielded with a pair of Oakley sunglasses, but they couldn’t hide his irritation nor his lack of personality. This guy could’ve made a stalk of celery seem animated.
