Scheisse, where’s my car?!!!

Days in Frankfurt with family: 3
Days of rain: 3
Days of snow: .01 (15 minutes of flurries)

6 a.m. Alarm Antelope sounds (this is the ring tone on my Blackberry alarm). Hit snooze. Immediately Alarm Antelope rings. How did 10 minutes pass so quickly?!
Have. To. Get. Up.
8 o’clock meeting. Shower. Makeup. Pump. Hair. Dress. Tired.
Purse – check. Briefcase – check. Pump – check.

Loaded for bear, I head down the stairs. (I need to write about the stairs at some point. Numerous and treacherous are a couple of “-ous” words that come to mind, but that’s another story. No pun intended. Get it? Stairs? Story? But I digress…)

We’re living in a temporary apartment on Louisenstrasse, the pedestrian shopping street of Bad Homburg, a village north of Frankfurt. (For you google junkies, our address is Louisenstrasse 79.) We are just above a flower mart, and every morning I look down at the beautiful flowers. It’s quite romantic, even at 6am through my jet-lagged haze, and I like to pretend I’m in Paris.

Past the flower shop I go, down the block and around the corner, headed for the car.

Last night, it was dark when I got home, and I circled the block (actually a few blocks) numerous times before I finally found an open parking spot. It took me three tries to complete my parking task – I kept getting out, as cars whizzed by, to see whether I was sticking out too far in front, in back and on the sides. Having no clear idea of where I had finally parked, I was pleased to discover my spot was quite close to our door after all.

So this morning, once I’d rounded the corner, I knew where to find my little silver Passat station wagon (or “combi” as they’re called here). Trouble was, there was no little silver Passat combi. There was a black BMW combi, but no Passat. Well, maybe I had it wrong after all. Walk farther. Walk. End of block. No car.

As I’m walking back, I see it.

On the pavement, in the spot recently vacated by the BMW combi, was the universal sign for handicapped parking.

Scheisse.

Now, I distinctly remember seeing a handicapped sign last night, posted close to the nose of my car, but it wasn’t pointed at MY spot – it was pointed down the alley next to my spot. I even thought, “how nice – they let the handicapped folks drive all the way up to the back of the buildings. Like frau parking, only handi parking. These Germans are really thoughtful. How lucky am I to be in such a great culture.”

Psyche - Welcome to Germany, your car has been ab-schlepped. (or, rather, towed!)

Back to the apartment with my load. Pack mule. Now late for my meeting with Supply Chain Team. Great leadership moment. Run afoul of the German law twice before even occupying “permanent” address. And how will I find my car? Worse yet, it’s a company car. Headline: Toy Company Finance Exec Imprisoned for Playing Irresponsibly with Company Asset.

As proof that guardian angels surround us, our relo specialist, Andreas, had a meeting with John this morning and met me at our door. Call the police station to determine location of beloved combi. Speak in German. Call Mattel to discover the license plate number of the car (since all my paperwok was trapped in the combi). Speak in German. Another call to the police to establish my authority to drive said combi. German. After 3 hours and a trip to the abschleppdienst, I was reunited with my combi.

And it only cost €150, a bargain according to my colleagues.

We can’t afford to live here.