This last Saturday was the Third Annual Del Mar Track Day. A day known for betting on horses, cooking some good steaks for ourselves at the Turf Supper Club, and heading to an Indian Casino to finish off the night.
(Well, the past two years, people have stupidly flaked out on the casino gambling and decided to stay in downtown SD to go to a bar to go find girls or something. Nothing like walking into a bar with a group of nine guys who have been drinking and smoking cigars all day to get a girl's juices flowing. Next year, I am going to the casino by myself if I have to.)
Why am I so bitter about the third part of the day falling apart again this year? I'll tell you why: Sixth and Market.
After dinner, "we" decided to go downtown and meet up near sixth and market to do some bar hopping. I had to borrow Tauni's car for the day because mine was having some issues. We parked Tauni's car in a garage, and had the foresight to write down the streets, the floor, and the spot of where we parked in a book of matches: Garage: Sixth and Market, Floor: 2L, Spot: 151
God, the three of us in the car who wrote this info down felt so freakin' smart. We were the same three who, earlier in the day at the track, strategically parked by the exit at Del Mar so we could easily leave. We spoke glowing about ourselves multiple times throughout the day and night about our parking prowess...Seriously, were were the Three (Parking) Amigos.
We leave the garage, meet up with our six other friends, and end up going to a couple of bars downtown...one of which took us literally 20 minutes to find. Everyone was pissed by the time we got there...we stayed for one beer and it was time to go home at about 1:00 AM.
Well, almost time to go home.
We pull out the matches, our treasure map, to go find where we had left the car. We beeline it over to the garage and get up to the second floor, which is now oddly marked as "Floor 2" not "2L."
Shit, we are in the wrong garage.
We walk around the block, trying to retrace our steps from earlier in the evening, go into another parking garage (so we think) and go to the second floor: "Floor 2"
Shit, we had gone in a circle and found the same incorrect garage AGAIN.
Now I start to get a little worried. First of all, I haven't lost MY car...it's my girlfriend's. To top that off, she has a 1/2 marathon to run in about five hours...and I need to get to this by the finish. I am already imagining the following conversation in the morning:
"Sorry I couldn't make it to your race."
"That's ok, what happened?"
"I don't know where your car is."
"So, you didn't come to my 1/2 marathon AND you don't know where my car is?"
"Kind of....I thought maybe you would want to run home after your race????"
No way I sliced it was this going to turn out well for me. I needed to find that damn car. But not to fear, we were the Three (Parking) Amigos, after all!
(Flash forward 30 Minutes)
The Three (Parking) Amigos now hate each other. Walking around downtown San Diego at night wearing flip flops, smelling of stale beer, and having newly chafed thighs has a way of breaking down even the most amigo-est of relationships. What started out as:
"Did you try this street?"
"No, not yet, bestest bud. I bet we find that car real soon."
Had turned into:
"Did you fucking check that street, bitch?"
"Why don't you go fuck yourself, asshole."
"Hey, YOU'RE the one who wrote down the WRONG location, dickhead."
"Yeah, and you wanted to go to that STUPID bar."
"Why don't you two shut the fuck up?"
*no group laugh*
We eventually do manage to retrace our steps, and discovered that while writing down the correct floor and spot of a car is nice...getting the streets wrong by four blocks has a way making the car slightly hard to find.
Crisis over. I make it home and have enough time to sleep for a few hours...wake up...and manage to see Tauni finish her race...and I even remembered where I parked.
Another Del Mar day labeled a success, and another valuable lesson learned: You mess with the parking karma gods, and your upper thighs are bound to get burned.