This week’s nomination for the “I Can’t Believe I Haven’t Been Hit By A Bus Yet” award is a pretty good one.
So Friday night, I was very, very tired. I had been at work since 8:30 stuffing 5,000 care packages for the USO. A rewarding task, but flat-out exhausting.
I managed to get out a bit early by speeding a staff member whose cab never showed to the Burbank airport (and got him there with 12 minutes before his flight took off, an eternity at Burbank).
I was going to meet the fabulous Casey down in West Hollywood, but the traffic was bad enough that I figured I’d wait til I got over the hill to get cash.
Oh, what a mistake that was.
I stopped at the Washington Mutual at Fairfax and Beverly. To park there, you have to turn into an underground parking garage since it’s at a busy intersection.
Now you’d think, if you can’t go in or out that way, they would have, you know, closed the entrance to the garage. But no.
So I park, and I go to get on the elevator. A member of the cleaning crew (who I later realized must not have understood English very well) said, “The bank is closed.” I said I was just going to use the ATM, and he said, oh, OK.
So I went up in the elevator, and ran into another woman with better listening comprehension skills who told me I couldn’t get out this way, I had to go around and walk out the front of the garage to get to the ATM.
Okay, fine. So I went back down the elevator, and when the doors opened…There was a heavy steel door. Locked in place. And the doors of the elevator wanted to close on me.
So I started shouting, and after about five minutes someone finally came and got the guy who had locked the door (same guy who nodded and said OK when I got ON the damn elevator).
We had a poorly translated discussion about what not to say to people when you’re about to lock a heavy steel door behind them. “Oh, OK,” was at last deemed not on the list.
Then I got the fuck out of there, feeling angry and dumb for not just going to the damn branch in Burbank where I knew where everything was.