A parking disc?
I stared at my messages, sweat dripping down my face.
‘I’m sorry. You can’t park there without a parking disc.’
Apparently, I needed to buy this thing to park in Finland without getting fined.
The Nordic summer sun wasn’t playing.
I just wanted to lie down.
But I needed a damn disc.
I ran to my apartment. Grabbed my wallet. Then I ran to the nearest supermarket to get the disc.
I returned to the car. No clamp or ticket. Good.
Re-parked. Set the plastic parking disc to the correct time.
I sat back in my chair and let out a long breath.
Then I saw it.
My car rental people had already fixed a paper parking disc to my inner windscreen.
All that running around was in vain.
Sort of.
I had added another 3,200 steps to my fitness meter.
But again, I was humbled.
Alex, you know what this means, right?
Next time, when you feel flustered, that’s a sign you might not be as aware as you could be.
