Sunday, March 20, 2011

Chiste Mal...

Was one of my college nicknames. It's spanish for "bad joke." I earned it junior year because I was prone to so many awkward mishaps. Nothing dangerous... nothing actually tragic... just the kind of dilemmas that are the stuff of sitcoms.

This weekend's adventure was a perfect example. My friend Brian and I found a deal for an hour-long massage for 45 dollars. It was an amazing bargain- and we decided to get together, make brunch and treat ourselves to our coupon on Saturday.

The spa was in Arlington, VA- which is the opposite end of DC from my house. We drove out together and followed the directions to the address. The instructions from the spa said "free parking in the back." We pulled around the back of the building, but it wasn't clear if we were at the right place. "Do you think this is it?" I asked Brian. "Yeah, this is fine!" He replied. "Besides, even if it's not, it's a Saturday, no one will bother your car back here." Fateful last words...

We walked around to the front of the building and headed a few doors down the strip of shops to the spa. Both of us enjoyed a lovely massage, but we came out looking like something the cat dragged in. Every inch of us was slicked up with grease from the massage- including our hair. I looked like I hadn't showered in days. Brian's hair was spiky and slick. We thanked and tipped our masseuse and headed out into the beautiful day.

And as we rounded the corner of the building, of course- the car was gone.

"You have got to be kidding me!" I screamed. And then I broke my lenten resolution of not cursing with a special string of unbridled expletives.

Only when it was too late did we notice the "Private parking, vehicles towed at owner's expense" sign. We called the number. They had my car- but we had about a mile to walk to get to it!

We were an absolute sight to behold. No one should be seen in public as greasy and foul as the two of us were. We had to walk through Arlington's cutest neighborhood that way. Everyone was out eating at restaurants on the patios, ogling curiously at the oily, sweating, perturbed kids in sweatpants.

All's well that ends well- after forking over 115 bucks to a chain-smoking lady guarding the lot, I got my car back. Suddenly the $45 massage had become a $160 afternoon. Whoops! Chiste Mal.

Till the next episode,
Peace and love!

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