...the Journal

The Guest
Refrigerator Door

The new magnets are from Jeri's refrigerator. Jeri's fridge has some unusual stuff attached to it.

This is an ad for Spam
(the meat kind)

* NEW *

Someone suggested I add a discussion board, so I have.

If you have anything to discuss, go to this link. Feel free to start a new discussion on anything.


I'm a Stranger Here Myself

Bill Bryson

I enjoyed his Australia book so much, I decided to try the one about this country.


Battersea Park Road
to Enlightenment

(this is a book I picked up in London)


Annie Get Your Gun

That's it for today!



6 June 2001

Tonight, we went to see the touring production of Annie Get Your Gun at the Sacramento Community Center. Street parking in the area being at a premium, we always park in the community garage a couple of blocks from the center, along with most of the rest of the audience.

These garages near entertainment complexes generally have the right idea. Charge a flat rate, pay in advance, and then when people come pouring into the garage after the production, all they have to do is drive out again. Everything has already been paid.


Only for some reason, the community center garage, in its infinite wisdom, decided not to charge as you enter this time around.

This meant that the 1500 people who were attending the show who had parked their cars in the garage all had to stop at the booth and pay before they could get out.

As luck would have it, Walt and I had parked on the fourth floor and when we got to our car, it was obvious we were in for a long wait.

Walt decided to just leave the windows open, open the sun roof and sit where we were parked because it was pointless to even try to get into the line of cars. Why waste the gas.

So there we were in a concrete box, where all the sounds reverberate as they bounce off the walls, with all our windows open so we could have better access to the carbon monoxide billowing out around us. And some idiot decided to honk his horn.

It is absolutely beyond my comprehension why someone in a long line of traffic, or in this case on the fourth floor of a five story building with cars backed up all the way to the top, would think that anything could be accomplished by honking his horn.

Does he think that the 500 cars in front of him just forgot to move and by blowing his horn they’ll suddenly wake up and remember what they’re supposed to be doing?

[I’m reminded of my grandmother who used to ask, when she would be riding with us in a long line of traffic, "why doesn’t the person up in front go faster?"]

What can possibly be accomplished, other than shortening already short tempers, by blowing your horn.

Well, I don’t know what can be accomplished, but soon cars all over the garage were honking their horns. Swell. THAT sure helped things.

Now we have carbon monoxide coming in the windows and horn noise bouncing off the walls and still nobody is moving.

We had, by this time, been sitting in the car for 30 minutes, so I did the only logical thing: I took a nap. When I woke up 30 minutes later, we were actually in the traffic line and had made it all the way to the third floor. Woo hoo!

I was afraid they’d close the garage (which posts its closing time as midnight) with all of us left inside because we couldn’t get out of the building by the deadline.

One reason for the long delay became apparent as we finally reached the first floor. This garage has two exits, each of which has two pay-booths. The genius who decided that paying after a show was better than paying before the show also decided that there was no point in opening both exits, so had blocked off one exit and instead of opening both booths so you could get cars through twice as fast, there was only one money-taker working, while another person just stood there watching.

(I wondered if somewhere Alan Funt was hiding, with his Candid Camera, taking pictures of the consternation on people’s faces. But then I remembered that Funt was dead. He probably died of carbon monoxide poisoning in a long line of cars waiting to get out of a parking lot.)

As we finally got out into the air, a mere hour and a half after we got to our car, I was so ecstatic I almost felt like blowing the horn myself.

But I didn’t.

One Year Ago:
"You've Got MAIL!"

Some pictures from this journal
can be found at
Club Photo

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Created 6/6/01 by Bev Sykes