Dating, Men and Lost Cars

I read an article the other day about a television celebrity who forgot where he parked his car while shopping in Hollywood. This actor was apparently seen wandering the lot, pushing the lock button on his key chain while he listened for the beep.

This must really be a man thing ‘cause it happened to hubby-dearest last week while we were out on a romantic date – if you can call a Monster-Truck Rally a romantic date. Well, we did hold hands and he bought me a bucket of popcorn (with extra butter), so I guess you can say the date was somewhat romantic. According to my man, anytime the two of us get out of the house alone and spend money (other than shopping), it’s a date. Who can argue with that kind of dating logic?

Okay, I’m digressing a bit. Our date started off fine. Being the gentleman that he is, my husband dropped me off at the arena entrance while he parked the car. After several hours of eating dust laden popcorn and drinking warm soda, the event was over and so was our date – time to go home. We left the arena and went outside to the parking lot. It hit him almost immediately - he had absolutely no idea where he had left the vehicle.

Honest. I’m not lying about this. We stood there dumbfounded with our bag full of souvenirs in hand wondering where the hell he’d left our ride. No idea, none whatsoever. My husband turned to me for help and I simply told him: “Hey, it’s your car; you’re supposed to know where it is.”

He didn’t get excited and did what any man would do – pulled out the remote and pressed the panic button. Yes, the alarm went off and we could hear the blaring horn and knew the lights were flashing madly, but the car was still nowhere to be seen.

It was still hidden amongst a thousand others, parked somewhere in one of those 30 rows with its alarm system blaring. And he’s standing on the sidewalk like a dork with the remote stretched out over his head so that everyone walking by knows that he’s the one who lost his car.

And now I’m thinking about those days when you’d see cars toting monstrously tall CB antennas. Remember them? They would often be adorned with distinctive flags, or raccoon tails, or something else just as tacky. My dad had one. He didn’t have a CB, but he had the antenna. I never knew why.

Now I do.