A good friend is in town for a conference, so we decided to meet for lunch. Sounds easy. Sounds normal. Until you realize that this lunch was in a complex of buildings spanning several city blocks and connected by enclosed walking bridges. And even that sounds kind of nice and comfy (shelter from the crazy end-of-April winter we’re having, and all) until you realize that my friend and I were chattering about everything that’s happened since we saw each other last (which was in grad school, by the way), and had never stepped into this maze of shops and offices and restaurants before, and were mostly unsure of where we were going in the first place.

I’d made a mental note of the parking level we were on (Level B), and was pretty proud of myself for remembering that. I also remembered how many of the bridge things we’d crossed, and even what shops would indicate we were in the same building as the parking ramp. But the one crucial piece of information I’d neglected to remember was exactly how we got from dear old Level B to those landmark shops. So after a pleasant lunch of excellent sushi (man, I wish there was a good sushi place in my town) we wended our merry ways back to the landmark shops and then drew a complete blank. She remembered riding elevators. I didn’t. I remembered an escalator, but there weren’t any right there. So we tried the elevators, but there was no Level B listed. There was C, D, E, F, and G, but no B. So we got out of the elevator and took the stairs down. … E, D, C…. Level 2… EXIT. No Level B in sight. And when we asked a shop keeper how to get to Level B, she looked blank and pointed toward the elevators.

At this point, we went outside and I pointed my friend toward her conference hotel, which was only about 6 blocks away, so that she’d make it in time for her opening keynote. Then I returned to the mysterious elevators and punched the button for Level E. If I’d misread the sign, an E looks more like a B than any of the other possible letters do.

The elevator dinged and ejected me into the gloom, the ever-present roar of the exhaust fans, and row upon row of unfamiliar cars.

In my mind, I mentally drove into the parking ramp and parked, remembering the angle of the ramp and of my parking space and the placement of nearby columns. Then, taking a deep, calming breath, I began walking downwards through the parking structure, circling and descending, circling and descending, reminding myself that I was lucky not to be out in the 30-degree weather and the lacerating wind. Whenever I arrived on a ramp with the correct slant to the floor, column structure, and parking angles, I’d press the “unlock” button on my key fob and look around expectantly for flashing lights.

E… D… C… B! There WAS a Level B. It simply wasn’t included on any of the stairwell door markers or elevator buttons!! And then the moment of truth as the parking ramp’s floor tilted downwards to the next lower level, the columns took on a familiar formation, and the parking spaces slanted off to the left just so. I pressed “unlock,” and nearly sprinted to the flashing yellow lights that greeted me cheerily. “We’ve been here the whole time!” they seemed to tell me. “We’re so glad you’re back.”

And I thought navigating the one-way streets was going to be the biggest adventure of the day…