Fun Times at the Airport Parking Garage

While I've traveled quite a bit in the past, I haven't been to Indianapolis's new airport enough times to know the routines. Just the other day our entire family decided that we'd be on hand to greet my mother-in-law who was returning from a nearly two month visit to Germany. By the time I dropped off the wife and chillins and managed to drive all the way back to the parking garage and get out, they were all walking towards me. I had been out of the car for less than a minute and they were all ready to leave. That's two bucks down the tubes but I didn't mind since we all love my wife's parents quite a bit. I was right next to the pre-pay machine so I decided to pay for my ticket there and save some time getting out of the gate.

It's simple. You put your ticket in and then pay for your parking via cash or a credit card. They print out a receipt that shows when you came in, when you left and that you've paid your fare. So, as I was driving out, I pulled up to the Pre-Paid gate and realized that I needed my original parking ticket to get out. I never made the connection that I'd still need it and had left it at the the pre-pay machine inside the garage. No problem. I pulled up to a gate with a man inside a booth and showed him my receipt. Everything was on that little piece of paper. I figured it would only take me an extra minute for this guy to read the receipt and let me pass.

Obviously, that wasn't the case or I wouldn't be sitting here pecking away at the keyboard. First off, he told me that I needed to make sure I have my ticket the next time.

"Sorry about that," I said. I honestly didn't care because I had paid two dollars to park for two minutes. I wasn't mean about it.

He spent the next five minutes fumbling through papers, his cash register and some random files while writing things down on my receipt. I couldn't figure out what he was up to.

"I'm going to need to see your license," he said.

While I couldn't figure out why he would need it, I was prepared to hand it over. At this point I noticed that the gate was open...but I still handed it over. I figured another minute of my life wasted wasn't that big of a deal. He must have waited at least two minutes (still fumbling around doing who knows what) before taking the license and then I can only assume that he drew a perfect representation of it--including the way "Indiana" is written at the top and sketching my head shot. He walked out of the booth and gave me the license, but he was too close to the car for me to do anything.

"Do you need a blood sample?" I asked, knowing that I was being a smart@$$ but I couldn't resist at this point. I don't think he heard me or cared about what I said. He wandered to the back of the vehicle and told me he need to write down my license plate. While I didn't see him reach for any colored markers or pencils, I can only assume, once again, the he re-created my license plate on the back of the receipt. Maybe it's some kind of hobby. Finally he came back to the car and gurgled out some ineligible words. The Mrs. thought he said something about a vehicle inspection and I was looking for a good vein for him to draw blood.

By this time fifteen minutes had gone by and I was still sitting at the opened gate. He handed me some form that needed my signature and I quickly scribbled "Homer J. Simpson" at the bottom. Sometimes you just have to stick it to the man. That's how I roll.