Adventures of a Parking Ramp Wanderer

Being familiar enough with Mayo Clinic, I didn't feel it necessary to head over to yesterday's appointment until I was certain I'd arrive at the appointment desk with less than a minute to spare. What I had failed to recollect is that getting to Mayo and finding parking is an experience in and of itself. Tuesday is simply not the best day to play Russian Roulette with Mayo appointment times.

I was running too late to park in my free space, so I went for the nearest ramp, which was full. I waited in line for several minutes to get into the alternative ramp, which is located nearly as far away as my free parking. After what felt like forever, I finally found a spot and then power-walked to the elevator and through the subway to arrive at my appointment nearly 10 minutes late. It all worked out just perfectly, because I was the next patient to be called and only had to sit in the waiting area for about thirty seconds. *whew!*

As I returned to the parking ramp, I realized that I never checked to see on which level I parked. I stood in the elevator a second, trying to remember something about the possible location of my van, and the best I could recall is that I wound around in that ramp for what felt like an eternity, so I picked floor seven--near the top, but not quite the roof.

I stepped out into the ramp in the -20 degree temperatures and saw that my van was indeed NOT parked on floor seven. "I must be close, though," I figured, and so I proceeded to walk through the winding ramp, down to floor six and then floor five. Still, my van was no where to be found.

I was trying my best to look like a normal person walking with purpose towards my vehicle, but the stares and rubbernecking of the passersby in their warm cars led me to believe I was failing miserably in my act. I think it may have been the goofy, smirky look on my face--a result of my gaffe and ensuing inner laughter at myself--that gave me away.

"Seriously? It has to be in here somewhere!" I exclaimed aloud while throwing my hands in the air, now boldly embracing my craziness.

I took the steps in the unheated stairwell back to the top of the ramp, in case I had somehow missed it. On each floor I'd emerge to look for my vehicle. After twenty minutes, feeling quite foolish, I found with much rejoicing, my van on level three, yes, THREE.

I want you all to know that I've taken the necessary measures to prevent this from happening again. And if you ever take a ride with me and notice the recently added sticky note on my steering wheel that says, "Where are you?" don't worry! I'm just trying to remember to keep track of my van the next time I park it.