Bool Brain
There’s this thing called baby brain. Apparently it makes you forgetful.
And, though I’ve never experienced pregnancy (I think Arnold S. still has a corner on the male pregnancy market), I’ve experienced a similar phenomenon.
I call it BOOL Brain.
What is BOOL Brain? It’s that dazy haze one finds themselves in after sitting in front of a computer all day coding. When you enter this ambiguous reality of nearly impossible to articulate thoughts and frequent forgetfulness.
Last Friday I had a serious case of BOOL Brain. How bad you ask? Let’s just say I can no longer claim to have never called 911.
After a long day at the coworking space, I was walking down my block feeling pretty damn good about the week I just had. I’d turned thirty and was feeling great. After only five days I was making great progress in Objective-C and I had a Calexico burrito with extra crack sauce and a Dinosaur Jr. show waiting for me in the night ahead.
That was until I realized my car had been towed.
Crap. That’s like taking $200 out of your wallet, covering it in peanut butter and letting your dog eat it. Not only do you lose your $200, you also have to deal with the aftermath of a potentially damaged dog.
Now usually there’s a sign telling you what number to call to get your car back. Usually. In my case, the only hint provided is a splotchy mess of yellow paint on the sidewalk that reads “NO PARKING”. Great.
After calling every tow company in the area and having a little chat with Donna, Joe, what may or may not have been Large Marge and Mike, the latter filled me in on a little tip.
If there’s no number listed on a tow sign, the towee has to file a report with the police.
Perfect. I called the cops and gave the same rundown I gave everyone else. Blocked driveway, Honda Fit, Black, I think it was towed.
Officer Dan says, “You think it was towed? Are you sure you didn’t just forget where it was parked?”
Nope. I know beyond a shadow of doubt it was parked on my block. But, after 20 minutes of trying to find a report on a towed Honda Fit, Office Dan is at a loss.
“Look, here’s what you’re going to do. Call 911 and report a stolen car. This way, I can send an officer out to you and maybe we can get some more details on what happened.”
Now it feels like we just took this up a notch in seriousness.
Call 911? I’ve never done that before. And stolen car? My car wasn’t stolen, just towed.
At least I think it was just towed…
Actually now that I think about it a little more I swear I parked right next to this tree. Not in front of the driveway after all! And, yes I remember being in front of this black camaro with flames on the side of it.
Holy crap my car was stolen.
I can feel the panic rising as I call 911. A nice lady takes down my name, info, car make, model and license plate and is going to send an officer over as soon as possible.
As I’m sitting on my stoop, thoroughly freaked out, I notice I have my car key in my hand.
In the saddest way imaginable I press the “lock” button on the big plastic key, knowing I may never here my little Honda Fit “beep beep” again.
…Beep Beep...
My ears hear one of the sweetest sounds they’ve heard in a long while.
Today was street cleaning day. I forgot I moved the car this morning down the block.
Whoops. Touché Officer Dan.
BOOL Brain strikes again.
