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Dear Visitor to the Building,

Welcome to the parking garage. Yes, your car can make it underneath those concrete girders. See that Ford truck parked over there? The one with a four-inch lift kit and 33-inch tires? It looks alright to me, so I think your Ford Festiva is going to be fine. I really do. Really.

And yes, I think it's also going to be able to fit between the concrete walls of the ramps that take you up to the next level of the garage. I know it sounds ludicrous, but trust me on this. All the other cars in the garage seem to be free of enormous scratch marks on their doors. And besides, let's face it, but that's no Ferrari you're driving. Heck, that's no Nissan Altima, either.

Also, I think it's safe to say that you can speed up a little. I know there's a lot of foot traffic in here and it would be mentally devastating to kill a pedestrian with your automobile, but I think that driving two miles an hour is a little overly cautious. I'm pretty sure that the ten-car line that's developed behind us would agree. But what do I know? I'm just trying to get up to the seventh floor.

Now that we're at the elevators, you should take a moment to consider your surroundings. You're in a parking garage. It's a building full of cars. For parking. That's it. You're not going up. There are no offices in the parking garage. I know that's a little difficult to grasp. Luckily, someone placed a sign right above the elevator button telling you that there are no offices in the parking garage and that you have to go down to the lower level and take the tunnel under the street. I know that's a little complicated, but you evidently passed a driving test, so you should be able to figure it out without defecating in your pants. Theoretically.

Anyway, best of luck. No, I don't really want to help you find your destination. You are the reason it took me fifteen minutes to park. And you smell like poop. Sorry.


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