Hungry truck seat

I did a pretty credible job of keeping track of all my stuff at VIR. I'm notorious for either leaving something at home or at my destination, so I've made it a habit of trying to remember what I have with me and where it is.

This habit has been honed nigh to perfection over the last 4 years, and it began when I plunked down over $100 for a pair of RayBan sunglasses. Amanda told me then that it was sheer excess, and that I'd lose them before I even got used to them.

But let me tell you: I've babied those sunglasses. Ok, they've been dropped, squished, even had a lens break, but I've never really lost them. Until last week at VIR.

We went down with a truck absolutely full of stuff: tools, spare parts, documents, fluids, a race car, tires, clothes, and everything else needed for two days of keeping a car on the track. It's a lot to keep straight, and I even had a list.

Of course my sunglasses weren't on the list: I'd never lost them! Duh!

Yeah, I lost them the first night.

I spent every spare moment at the track looking for those damned sunglasses. I would sneak back to the room and rifle through all my stuff 2 or 3 times a day. When I was re-packing the truck to come home, I completely unpacked it just in case, and then upon returning home I went through everything 3 more times. These numbers are not exaggerations.

But then last night I remembered that the truck seat had eaten 16 pages of documents we needed on the way down there. On a hunch, I ran out to the truck, shoved my hand between the cushions, and found my RayBans, directly behind where my ass had been.

I wore my chipped and scratched RayBans more proudly today than ever before.

If you ever ride in the truck, be careful what you leave on the seat.