A couple years ago, I worked at a group home for the severely mentally ill. It was a great job, but I had to juggle so many duties that I sometimes forgot little things, like where I left the company car.
My shift was three days and two nights. On the second evening, I drove the car to a nearby pharmacy to pick up meds for a patient. I remembered the meds, but unfortunately I forgot the car. I walked the two blocks back to the group home, in a romance-induced haze as I talked to my boyfriend on my cellphone.
The next morning, I woke up and noticed that there were no cars in the driveway. Was the car stolen in the night? I called my boss in a panic. She, in turn, called her boss, who called the police. A few hours passed, in which we all felt terrible about being robbed. Then one of my coworkers happened to drive past the pharmacy and saw the car in the parking lot, right where I’d left it. She called my boss, who called me. She was so relieved that we’d found the vehicle. In the middle of our conversation, I suddenly realized that I was the one who left it there, and blurted it out!
Fortunately, very fortunately, she had a sense of humor, and I was only mildly chastised for my spaciness.