I arrived back home yesterday early. Apparently the flying Gods took pity on me and the headwind turned into a tailwind and boom, 30 minutes early. Rejoice!
I walk outside with my bags and to the stop I have parked in, terminal 2, second floor, spot 144. I get there and no car. I think, ok, I just got this wrong. That even though I had written down my parking spot on my ticket, I had written it down incorrectly. I think called my mommy and whimpered 'my car is a'missin!' and by whimpered I mean called out loudly and with a touch of panic. My mom then listened to me walk all 4 floors of the parking garage while hitting the panic button on my key chain in hopes of having my car honk loudly at me. It didn't. After 30 minutes she said, ok, you need to find a cop. I nodded and hung up, head down and wandered off to explain the 'Car Go Invisible' situation.
I found an attendant and he asked for my parking ticket. After a brief scan he said 'Oh, you're in 2B, this is 2A'.
This involved me staring at him for 30 seconds and then mustering up the strength for 'HUH?'
You see, even though both garages call themselves 2, and there is NO indication of an A or B, there are two terminal 2 parking garages. Which is totally logical. Oh, and they are identical. Thanks LAX for the fun practical joke. And for helping me find my car, which in fact was honking like mad. It gives me brief solace to know that if any LAX parking attendant crew were walking past my car they were very confused as to why it honked for 2 second and then stopped. And also have the trunk opening and closing randomly.
But, in short, I hate you terminal 2, and I am home. Until this evening. Yay home.