For someone who drives so little she only has to fill her gas tank every three weeks, I've had quite a parking debacle this month. I see now why people rely solely on public transportation to get to and fro, and I plan on doing the same. Circumstances this past couple of weeks have forced me to drive into work a total of three times. THREE times. That opens us up for any number of debacles, Gentle Readers. Where shall we begin?
The city I work in is notorious for having ZERO parking options. Well, if you don't live there anyway. There are a limited number of public garages, and I am "off" the main drag a tad. So, the first day I need to drive into work, I figure that one of the meters usually available to me across the street from the library will be open. Right? WRONG. Library Ninja doesn't take into account that it's ELECTION DAY. People are parked and voting like mad, so there are no parking meters! My powers of stealth have failed me bad. So, I make my way to Scary Parking Garage, where I snag one of the few remaining spots. This goes well until I go to leave. Guaranteed a discounted rate by a hanging tag I procured from the City in another debacle, I go to leave and am SCOLDED for not having properly filled out all the information. Oh no- parking tag is not good enough for Parking Lady! One must fill out their license plate number, tag number, social security number, names of all your grammar school teachers, and count backwards from 1000 while hoping on one foot before you are allowed out of the garage. There was literal finger pointing - I kid you not.
When my next driving adventure
arrives, I am better prepared. I arrive earlier, case out parking spots better, and find the perfectly allocated meter spot. Too good to be true? I parallel park for the first time in 10 years, and after three attempts, I have achieved a MASTER parking job. I am so proud of myself, I comment to a passerby, who thinks I'm nuts or don't get out much. Then, I go to feed the meter, only to realize that even though I have put close to $2.50 in quarters in said meter, it is still only reflecting 30 minutes of time. Oh no? Oh yes. I am in a 30 minute spot. MAXIMUM. I have achieved parking nirvana only to have to MOVE MY CAR back to Scary Parking Garage and get reprimanded, again, by Parking Lady. I walk to work, defeated.
Parking debacle continues to today, where I again try for the metered spot. I find one right across the street from work. It's a front spot, so I only have a car behind me. I
ensure that the meter is for more than 30 minutes - check. I feed meter to maximum - check. I note time when I will need to come back and feed meter - check. I am prepared. I am happy. I have won! Until... I go to feed meter. Man who has just parked car walks up to me, curious. "That's my meter" he says. Huh? How can this be? He looks at my car and says, "oh, that's not a spot. I bet you have a ticket by now. See the sign?". Sign? Who the hell reads all these signs? This city is
tattooed like a college girl on Spring Break. How can anybody READ all these signs? But there it is - "no parking to corner" with a big, giant arrow. I have, essentially, parked in a non-spot, and paid someone
ELSE's meter for four hours. Yes, yes I have. And, to make sure I have the ice on the parking cake, there is a shiny red ticket waiting for me on my
windshield. $30. Not counting the $4 in parking I paid for someone else. So, I slip the ticket back underneath my wiper, and amble back to work. Looks as though I've bought this parking spot for the day, huh? Now if only it came with a wash.
Ode to Colette Benoir