Every month I make a trip to the MD Anderson Cancer Center in Houston.  Many of you may know that my mom has Stage 4 breast cancer and for several years we've made our monthly treks there for treatments and testing.  On our last trip there something that only I could do happened and I thought I would share to hopefully brighten your day.   

We use valet parking at MD Anderson.  It costs $15 but it's worth the extra money since we're usually running behind and a trip across the 'sky bridge' just takes too much time.  I always make it a point to put the valet ticket in my wallet so I won't lose it.  Well, for the first time in 3 years, for whatever reason, I just put the ticket in the front pocket of my pants.

Not a smart move.

I'm convinced I have some sort of transporter mechanism in the right front pocket of my pants and shorts.  Whenever I place items in there, more often than not, they are not there later on.  I imagine that in a parallel universe somewhere some guy can not figure out how various items such as nickels, chewing gum wrappers, and most recently a valet ticket keep appearing in his pocket.

Anyway, I made the walk of shame to the valet attendant explaining the lost ticket and she smiles and assures me that it's certainly not the first time.  "I bet you say that to all the dummies", I think to myself.  So, I give her the description of my vehicle and she sends one of the valets off to hunt it down.  A good 10 minutes go by until the valet brings the truck around...but it's not my truck.  It's a Silverado alright, but mine is a 2005 model and dark grey.  This one pulling in front of me is a much newer model and silver.  If they would allow me to trade I would certainly take this one.

I motion to the driver that this is not my truck.  "Mine is charcoal grey and the tool box is silver," I shouted out above the traffic noise.  He nodded with a bewildered look.  5, 10, then 15 minutes pass by.  I will not get angry since this is ultimately my fault for losing the valet ticket, but seriously, how hard can it be to find my pick up truck?  At that point, my mom quietly says something to me that changes the entire complexion of this event, "Didn't we come in your wife's vehicle?"

Right about the same time she said that, the valet with sweat pouring down his brow walked back from the garage.  I'm not sure how many times I apologized, but it had to be a record for 15 seconds.  I'm not from Japan or China, but I also bowed 5 or 6 times for good measure.  In less than 2 minutes, my wife's black Explorer pulled around the corner and a very sheepish son and his giggling mom got in and drove away.

I hope that guy in the parallel universe enjoys his ticket.