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Lifestyle // What's Next
Ron Nagasawa

Grand Theft Auto

I work in Honolulu in the Star-Advertiser Tower at Waterfront Plaza. I feel pretty lucky to be working in a modern, sleek office, but feel even luckier that I can park in the complex garage. The thing is, it’s a bit tricky parking in there, as the numbered floors of the garage do not necessarily match the floor listing in the elevator.

In other words, I can be parked on the physical second floor of the garage but in the elevator, it’s marked G for ground floor. The way it ends up is I can be parked on the garage floor marked 3, but have to enter it from the elevator floor marked 2.

The only way I can beat this is to park on the same floor in the same space every day. Plus, my car is easily identifiable. It’s a black sports car with spoiler and racing crests on the side. I’m not a Fast and Furious wannabe, I’ve just always been into cars.

So at the end of each workday, I automatically can go to the correct floor and practically find my car with my eyes closed. Last week my car had to go into the shop and so I was provided with a rental. I didn’t pay attention to what it was, except for the fact that it was compact and one of the more common makes and colors you see everywhere on the road. I went to work and parked the rental. That particular day was pretty grueling with numerous problems and challenges – typical for the newspaper business – and by the end of the day my brain was fried. I went to the parking garage and had completely forgotten that I had a rental. I was on autopilot, so I was looking for my black sports car.

When I couldn’t readily find it, I started to panic and combed each and every floor to find my “baby.” I retraced my steps and went back to where I normally parked. Still no car. I paced like a madman, and a woman who was watching me asked if I needed some help. Desperation in my voice, I cried, “Someone stole my Porsche!” Just then, I fished the keys out of my pocket.

I pressed the unlock button and then remembered that I had a rental. The car we were standing next to, a Honda Fit, clicked with the opening of the doors. The woman looked at me and said, “I thought you had a Porsche?” Embarrassed, I sheepishly replied, ‘It’s the Porsche of economy cars.”

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