I'm an eediot
I went to my doctor today (no, it isn't Bean - he only gets to see me naked if he buys me dinner). This particular doctor has an office in a medical center that is currently under construction and which features no street parking within reasonable walking distance for a lunch break appointment. The parking situation has become so miserable that now the lot offers valet parking only. I'm not a big fan of valet parking, and I didn't have any cash on me for a tip so I was a little perturbed.

I went up to my doctor, turned, coughed, etc., and went down to pay for parking. There was only one kiosk operating and the line was long. There was a self-service machine, and I thought I'd be clever and give it a try. Of course it didn't work. I got back in line. I finally paid, after a quick your-credit-card-has-been-declined scare. Then I went out to get my car.

I couldn't figure out whom to give my ticket, until I realized that the number had somehow been transmitted to the proper authorities when I paid. So I saw and waited. The people who paid before me got their cars. The people who paid after me got their cars. I didn't get my car.

After a while, I decided to find my car on my own. There it was, in a space near the parking lot entrance, where all the valet dudes were scrambling around. I asked one if I could just take my car, and after checking my ticket, he said sure. I sat down, closed the door, and went to turn the key... but there was no key. Needless to say, with each parking-related indignity I became more frustrated and self-righteous. Not overtly so, I hope, but I was starting to get p.o.'d.

The valet guys looked all around my car, on the floorboards, on the tires, but the key was nowhere to be found. I was good and ready for a nice chat with a manager. Then one of them said, "Hey, isn't that the car we had to push into a space because the keys weren't in it?" Huh? Pardon me? "Your keys are probably in your pocket, Sir."

What? My pocket? Keys? Why, that's the most... Um, how could... Uh... I... Oh. Yup, here they are. Right in my pocket. Kind of hiding down there beneath the cellphone.

I apologized, tried to smile, slinked down into my seat, and started the car.

I was frustrated, self-righteous, and angry at my situation, and the problem had been with me the whole time.* There's a High Holiday message in there, somewhere.

*Okay, not the whole time, exactly, but work with me here. - served up by Ralphie @ 3:54 PM