So I put in a solid day of taking photos of real estate. Almost 5.5 hours, almost 8.6 miles.
Maybe 20 minutes break in there. Maybe. I didn’t even eat lunch, I had a filling breakfast of a bagel with eggs. But still, 7+ hours of no eating during the day is surprising. I never really got hungry. And I had zero water to drink, which was bad. I brought some but I was in the zone.
But… my feet were (still are) KILLING ME! Most of the time… certainly a lot in the beginning… I was walking with great purpose, chugging along. Literally pounding the pavement.
My dogs are BARKIN!
So when I got near the end of my intended route for the day… stores’ external lights had come on. The streetlights weren’t far behind. My feet were killing me. The last block or two would have to wait.
So I walked back to the car. I remembered I parked on 44th Street.
But my car was gone.
This was the block I’d parked on. It looked like it. To be honest, I was kind of fuzzy. In retrospect, I should have eaten something and drank water. But I didn’t. And my car was certainly not there.
Had I parked on 44th? It was an eastbound street, so an even number. I hobbled to 42nd. Nothing. I stumbled to 46th. Nothing. I walked down towards the next avenue and clicked my car alarm, the BOOP BOOPer as we call it. NOTHING. My personal gas tank was empty. I wasn’t walking with verve. I needed to sit.
Did my car get stolen? Did it get towed? Mother. Fucker. I really didn’t need either (not that anyone ever really needs them.)
I texted Mona a bit. Will I call the cops soon? What’s my license plate? I don’t even know that. Wait. Yes. Yes I do. We used to enter it in a town database when I parked on the street in Mona’s nabe. No parking overnight unless I checked the car in.
Ok but I’m still not convinced that I didn’t just lose the car. Either way, I called my Uncle Jim. Jim’s a Brooklyn resident and wouldn’t you know it, he was home just waiting to rescue his nephew.
In forty five minutes, he arrived. We drove in an S pattern. No car. Ugh. “Hey unc, let’s do an S around the next avenues.
Hey wait… this looks familiar.
BOOM. There’s my car! I must have not walked towards the other avenue in that particular street while I was walking like a drunk man around the area (it WAS 44th after all.)
THANK YOU GOD! I knew that area of Brooklyn wasn’t bad anymore, especially for a car theft in the broad daylight.
But I was a zombie the rest of the day. The mental anguish of the car ordeal combined with the with physical exhaustion made for one painful evening.
Yes, I’d just lived through a Seinfeld episode, not finding my car.