Incompetence

Last weekend I went to LA for the day which was absolutely wonderful. I ate insanely greasy food at Pink's, ate even more at Diddy Riese's, went shopping on Melrose and at the Grove, discovered this amazing store called Johnny Cupcakes (see my blog list for his blog) and went to a show at one of my favorite outdoor locations - the Hollywood Bowl. The day was fairly close to perfect and an ideal way to close out the summer. That is, until the very end.

Prior to getting to the Hollywood Bowl, I parked at Hollywood and Highland to avoid the ridiculous stacked parking that the Bowl insists on providing and to provide my waistline with some much needed exercise after the 4,000 calories I had previously injested. I hike to the Bowl and enjoy the concert. Satisfied and a little bit tired, I head back to my car. Twenty minutes later as I finally approach the level my car was on, I start to dig for my car keys. And dig. And dig. And dig. My purse is not that big so this alone was an impressive feat. I dump the contents of my purse on the ground and after discovering some earrings I forgot I owned and reminiscing over the 24 or so tickets stubs I found, I come to the tragic conclusion that my keys are indeed lost. I knew I had them when I was at the Bowl so they are either still there or they fell out somewhere along the route back to Hollywood and Highland.

Slight panic begins to set in. I consider my options. Reevaluate my faith in humanity. Curse myself for not checking for my keys before I left the Bowl and decide that the next logical step is to hike back to the Bowl. Ugh.

So I hike back to the Hollywood Bowl checking every gutter and crevice all the way there. Tired, out of breath and slightly nervous, I ask a staff member if there's a lost and found. There is. Hope is rising. I find my way to the lost and found and discover four employees hanging out. I address a girl about my age that's sitting just behind the counter.

Me: "Has anyone turned in a set of car keys?"

Her: "What kind?"

Me: "Jeep."

Her: Momentarily blank stare.

Me: Breathless anticipation.

Her: "No. We haven't had our last drop off of the night though. We had someone turn in a key but it wasn't for a Jeep."

Me: Crestfallen. Actual panic begins to set in. "Can I take a look at my seat?"

Another employee: "Sure. What section were you sitting in?"

Me: "H."

Employee: "They shouldn't have cleared that section yet."

So I head to the seat I had pleasently spent the last two and a half hours in, however this time, it doesn't have quite the same appeal. There are no wine glasses clinking. There's no orchestra warming up. There are no LA socialites trying to impress each other with witty and cultured conversation. Instead there is trash and crickets everywhere.

After spending a good twenty minutes checking my seat and its surrounding area, digging through trash and retracing every step I had taken while at the Bowl, I am forced to realize that my hope had died and my faith in humanity was as misplaced as the object I was now done searching for. My key was gone. I had two options: call my dad and have him drive all the way up to LA with my spare key or take a cab home and have him drive me and said spare key up in the morning. Neither option appealed to me.

In the interest of stalling on making a decision, I went back to the lost and found office to give them my name and number in case my key turned up. This time there were only two girls left, both of which had been involved in my first panicked encounter.

Me: "Can I leave my name and number in case my key turns up?"

Girl 1: "Sure."

Girl 2: "Are you sure it was a Jeep?"

Me: "Yep." as I ponder how many times they've encountered people who were confused about what kind of car they drove.

Girl 2: "Are you sure it wasn't a Durango?"

Me: "Yes." baffled at the idea that she still doesn't believe I know what kind of car I drive.

Girl 2: "Because we had someone turn in a key for a Durango."

As appealing as the idea is of once again possessing a car key is, I decide that theft is not an option.

Me: "Well, unfortunately, I drive a Jeep." unsuccessfully trying not to sound condescending.

After once again confirming the make of car I drive, she picks up a key out of a tiny little bowl on one of their filing cabinets. It is none other than my car key. Which says Jeep on it. Twice. The word Durango won't even fit on my key the way it is designed.

Me: "That's it. That's my car key!!" said with an overwhelming sigh of a relief.

Girl 2: Look of sheer confusion. She inspects it closely for upwards of 90 seconds.

Me: I consider that this should have been done perhaps the first time I had visited her office.

Girl 2 to Girl 1: "It is a Jeep key!"

Me: Really now?

After exchanging looks of bewilderment, they finally hand me my key and I sign for it in their lost and found logbook. In my frustration, I didn't take the time to read the description in the logbook. I wish I knew if it was in fact described as a Jeep or Durango key. I fear this will haunt me the rest of my life.

Relieved and more than ready to be on my way I thank them and start out the door. As I walk away I hear laughter.

Girl 2 to Girl 1: "At least she got it!"

I have no words.