I attended the wedding of a close coworker. In attendance were a couple of executives, but also a few previous employees. I greatly enjoyed seeing those past coworkers and we talked endlessly catching up on each other's lives.

As the reception was stalling and the line for food was long, and the five of us opted to go out for an early supper. We chose a well-known Italian chain in a mall and entered the underground parking garage.

Excited to be in each other's company again, none of us really paid attention to the path we took from the car to the restaurant, other than to say we entered an elevator and there was a key sign denoting the restaurant's entrance at the Lobby Level of the building.

We ate, we drank, we laughed and had fun for nearly 3 hours when finally it was time to leave. There was only one bay of elevators. Two on the left and two on the right of the corridor.

We entered on the left, and the buttons read B3, B2, B1, Lobby, P3.

We all knew we'd moved through two floors to find parking. So, we thought B2, but no, it was the wrong floor. No car. Next we tried P3, thinking we must have gotten it wrong. Well, of course we got it wrong, but then we'd all had something to drink and were having too much fun laughing at our lack of observation.

Each of us had our input as to which floor to try, but to no avail, we tried every floor that particular elevator had to offer and none yielded our parking destination.

Add to it that only one man was part of the bunch, so the remaining four women had all reached and truthfully had even exceeded the well-known 2-hour high-heeled dress foot-wear time limitation.

It's that point whereby the feet in said short-term footwear begin to rebel, and file for divorce from our bodies.

Finally after much suggestion and only after trying every floor at least twice, we decided to return to the restaurant level and explore the option of another bay of elevators. There were none, so we thought we'd at least try another run at an elevator at the opposite side of the corridor.

Up to this point, we'd begun to look for hidden cameras. Remember Allen Funk's Candid Camera? This came to mind about now. All of us posing for real or imagined undisclosed cameras and giggling incessantly.

Almost immediately after passing through the elevator doors on the opposite side, the panel of buttons were most definitely different. L, P1, P2, P4, P5, P6.

Pressing what we believed to be the correct one, P2, we exited no longer in the Twilight Zone, but right by our car.

Who designs these elevator configurations and why the heck can't they just label them better!

Well, it was a great visit and one to repeat -- without the Twilight Zone episode.