Good Times at the Zards Game

It hasn't quite been long enough that we can laugh about it [especially for October-Friend-0f-Chris Tim O.] but the letters and phone calls can attest that CW must not wait another instance to tell its loyal readers about our ill-fated trip into the city on Wednesday after work to see the Wizards/Cavaliers game at Verizon Center.

It was a dark and snowy night. The roads were congested with the usual flow of rush hour traffic, but everyone's moving even slower than normal due to the slush beneath their tires and the wintry mix falling from the sky. Tim O. was on his way over to the CW offices, as was Andy. Tim had driven up to Rockville earlier in the day to pick up four free club-level tickets and a free parking pass. The plan was to drive into the city to pick up Chris from work and then scoot right over to the game. Twas not to be.

Chris had requested we drive the VW so that he could bring his bike home, and suggested Tim drive so that I could take a break from driving. Once we picked him up we made our way over to Chinatown and had trouble finding the designated parking garage. Keep in mind the area is packed with drivers and pedestrians and the aforementioned wintry mix has now turned to snow. We find the garage, make our way down THE WORLD'S LONGEST PARKING GARAGE RAMP only to encounter a rather irritable parking attendant who asked that we leave the keys in the ignition and the driver-side window half-way down.

Understandably we didn't like that policy and upon questioning it were told to go upstairs and "get our refund" after snatching the parking pass right out of Tim's hands. We got the pass back and were directed out. And here's where the night went to [expletive].

Tim can't go forward and can't go in reverse. I'm in the passenger seat so I give it a try. No luck. Chris reaches forward from the back seat to try and asks why the stick shift feels so soft. Chris gets behind the wheel and manages to get the car moving toward the exit but it seemed to be stuck in second gear and is moving slowly and unsteadily. And then Chris attempted to get her up THE WORLD'S LONGEST PARKING GARAGE RAMP.

Readers, I tell you this. In the sixth grade I once left some residual egg salad in a Thermos in my cubby for the better part of a semester. I found and opened that Thermos three months later and was taken aback by the foul odor. I've always cited that smell as the worst smell on record, in my life anyway. Until Wednesday night. The smell of Chris's clutch being completely destroyed as he valiantly but unsuccessfully tried to get that car up THE WORLD'S LONGEST PARKING GARAGE RAMP in second gear is one I won't soon forget.

It was determined that the car was not going to make it out of that garage without a tow truck. Chris threw her in neutral and Tim and Andy pushed her back down the ramp in reverse. The guys proceeded to pop the hood and talk shop, and the garage attendants and metro police conveyed their wishes to us that we remove the vehicle. We explain that our hands are tied and they thankfully agree to let the car remain overnight until a tow truck can get there. [Few were available due to the weather conditions.] Chris grabs his bike and the four of us set out, up that same GD ramp [shown above], to the street to find a cab and head home. An ignominous defeat.

Unfortunately, Chris's bike stood in the way of that cab ride. Turns out cabbies no like bikes. After finally flagging one down, the driver adamantly refused to let the bike in the cab. [Update: He has since contacted us and had this to say: "Your bike will never, ever, ever go inside of my taxi. I hate bicycles and those who ride them. I wish a thousand indignities upon your bicycle. And a big wag of the finger towards you all for wasting my precious time."] And so we set out on foot. In the snow. Nine blocks. To Chris's office to drop his bike off. I was wearing Vans with no socks [sorry, Mom], and Andy had on a short-sleeve shirt with no coat. Tim, in an act of chivalrous friendship or guilt, gave his coat to Andy. In short, we were all cold. And adding salt to his wounds, Tim realized he should have grabbed the tickets from the car and sold them on the street for cab money as we passed the scalpers outside the arena.

The denouement to the story? The nine blocks actually went by pretty quickly. We got the bike back to Chris's office, hailed a cab and were back to CW headquarters for some cold toddies and leftover chicken cordon bleu by 8:30. As we say around these parts, really one for the books.