A conversation arose at Time Out Towers recently on the subject of forgetfulness, leading to a flurry of anecdotes about times when a temporary lapse in memory had resulted in either a funny or embarrassing situation. I sat quietly hiding behind my computer screen as this back and forth continued, not daring to open my mouth and chip in. But now it’s time to reveal my ‘forgetfulness’ related story.
During my first year at university I was running late for a meeting at the student union, which was tucked in the middle of a residential area full of identical narrow, winding streets with cars parked bumper to bumper from one end of the road to the other. Both sides. I hastily parked my own car and ran to the student union, just about making the meeting on time.
It finished at 8pm and, being the middle of October, it was dark by the time I got outside.
I retraced my steps to my car, anxious to get back to my halls. Except my car was nowhere to be seen.
After walking up and down the road I believed I had parked in, inspecting the hundred or so cars wedged in for the night, I came to the conclusion that I must have lost my bearings and that the car was in fact parked in the next road. But it wasn’t. So surely it must be in the road after that? Nope. Anything in the road adjacent? Not a beef sausage.
After four hours of searching I gave up, thinking I’d return in daylight to continue the search. The next day, armed with a map and a highlighter, I spent another six hours crossing off every road within a two-mile radius. Eventually I had to conclude that the car had simply vanished.
Baffled as to what had happened, I called the police and my insurance company to ask for advice. After an investigation and no other alternative forthcoming, the car was officially declared stolen.
Of course I was annoyed and frustrated about no longer possessing the only car I had ever owned, but over time this angst subsided and the car all but disappeared from my consciousness. That was until I received a call 10 months later while working in America over the summer holidays.
‘Mr Hammond, it’s the Avon and Somerset Police here. We’ve found a car registered in your name in a street in Bristol. We’ve got on file that the car was reported stolen 10 months ago. The car was found approximately 20 metres from where you reported it stolen. So the thieves must have had a change of heart 10 days after the theft, paid to have a window refitted to replace the one they would have had to smash to steal it in the first place, and then parked the car back where they found it. Or, alternatively, you just forgot where you parked your car.’
After some paperwork and an awkward conversation with the insurance company, the car was returned to me. My friends and family found the story so hilarious, they emailed the Book of World Records asking for me to be listed under ‘The person who forgot where they parked their car for the longest period of time.’ I’m still waiting to hear back from them, but I haven’t forgotten where I’ve left my things since. The ridicule of something like that will do that to you.
