In the city

I have an anxiety disorder.

Don't worry, though. I talked to my doctor about it a while ago and we came up with a solution that works, most of the time.

But that stupid anxiety pops up every now and then.

In Kansas, there's one city that gets my anxiety going. Like, really, really going. To add anxiety on top of anxiety, I can't take parking garages.

They're so sterile, and so closed in. I hate them and I try to avoid them when I can.

In dawned on me in Big City that driving around downtown looking for a parking spot is pretty much as fun as going to Big City to have a root canal.

(I'm not being dramatic. I've lot a lot of root canals in Big City.)

So, on Thursday, it took me at least 20 minutes to park. Please note, I spent more time trying to park than I did shopping.

Gah.

I finally found a parking spot, after figuring out that when parking garages say "Full," they only mean "Kinda sorta full, sometimes. Lol jk."

I finally parked without hitting anyone, and I started to walk towards the exit, all the while looking three stories down, and hoping that no one would jump out of the shadows and throw me to my death in the meantime.

(Shit happens in Big City. I have an active imagination, a slight fear of heights and a fear that I will someday become a headline, okay?)

There was a sign in the parking garage that said something like, 'You should take your ticket with you and pay in the parking garage.'

Say what, now? I've always paid as you left. It's different, now?

Okay, I thought. Fine. I walked back to the car, got my little parking pass ticket thing, then went about my happy little business.

The nightmare came a few hours later. I pulled out my ticket at the machine on the first floor, and got ready to pay it.

But I put the parking pass ticket thing in the wrong slot.

OH MY GOD THE HORROR.

There were people behind me. People, as in plural. I got the ticket in the right slot on the second time, and then I put my credit card in the machine to pay.

I put my credit card in the machine wrong.

By then, there were at least five people behind me.

Did I mention I have an anxiety problem? I can't handle this stress, you guys.

PANIC PANIC PANIC.

I can graduate from college, buy a house and keep three dogs alive...but I can't get out of a parking garage?

I managed to put the ticket and my card in the machine the correct way, and the machine still refused to work. Then, it gave me my credit card back, but the machine kept my parking pass ticket thing.

People were waiting and glaring at me.

Does God hate me right now?

I looked at the line behind me, apologized, and told the people who probably thought I didn't have a brain that I couldn't get the machine to work.

I walked back to my car a few stories up, and hoped that no one would follow me and write down my license plate and report to, I don't know, God, that I'm sometimes stupid over simple things like this.

I drove down to the street level, and found a line of cars had formed to pay at parking garage's exit.

My confidence, which had just been totally shattered, started looking up while waiting in line.

Every single car in front of me had to buzz for help. The guy who helped, whoever he is and wherever he was, opened the gate for everyone.

His voice was magical.

Does that mean my card did not get charged? I have no idea. Does that mean that everyone had the same problem I did? I have no idea.

I'm just really, really thankful that I'm chilling out in my house right now, a few hours later, instead of a concrete prison/parking garage in Big City.

For a moment, I thought about what it would be like if I was never able to leave the parking garage. What if I had to spend the night there? What if I had to spend a lot of time there?

WHAT IF?

Who paid for that parking garage, by the way? The city? How much money does the city make each year? Is said parking garage paid off? How much money does it make each year?

My mind roams around like that.

For what it's worth, I felt better as soon as Big City was in my rear view mirror.

Anxiety is stupid.

I am too, sometimes.

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I guess on a more positive note, I actually looked for and located my car in the correct parking garage this time.

I'm getting better at this adulting thing, kind of.