“We’ve been on every floor,” Amanda complained, “and our car is not here. Please, George, the the kids and I are exhausted.”
“Amanda, I think our car has been stolen,” George said with alarm in his voice.
“Stolen? Who’d bother stealing a 2005 Corolla with a dented fender and bald tires.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that car,” George said defensively.
“Yeah,” said Amanda. “It’s really in demand in the jacked car market.” After a short, pregnant pause, Amanda asked George, “So what do we do now?”
“I’ll go find the parking attendant,” George said.
“We’ll go with you,” Amanda said. “This place creeps me out.”
George, Amanda, and the kids went to the attendant’s booth to find it unmanned. “I swear there’s always a ticket-taker guy here,” George said. Then he noticed the emergency call button next to the booth and pressed it.
“Yeah,” a voice said.
“Our car has been stolen,” George said into the speaker.
“You sure?” The voice asked.
“Yes, I’m sure,” George answered.
“Be right there,” the voice said.
When the attendant arrived he asked to see George’s parking ticket. “Wrong garage, Mate,” the guy said. “Your garage is two blocks north.
Amanda did a slow burn.
Written for today’s Sunday Photo Fiction prompt. Image credit: A Mixed Bag.