I've just parked my car on the fourth level of a seven-story parking garage where I work. I know it's the fourth level because each one is conveniently labeled with large, bright painted signs, about every 100 feet, that read, and I quote, "LEVEL 4." I don't spend tons of time in the garage* but one thing I've noticed is that the other six levels are also conveniently labeled with large, bright painted signs, about every 100 feet, that indicate to drivers what level they're on.
So it strikes me as somewhat odd when a woman driving a Porsche Cayenne pulls up to me and asks, and I quote, "Is level 2 downstairs from here?"
After offering up my best incredulous stare, I offer up the most brilliant answer I can think of: "Yes."
"In the basement?" she asks.
Yes. They started the building with level 2, just to mess with you.
I am not making this up.
* I'm calling it a garage because that's what it is, although in L.A., for some reason, people call it a "lot."
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