Perhaps today will be a good day; it started out well.
Columbians all know the mathematics of parking downtown. In the early morning, if one stops for breakfast, there is a calculation to be made: Will I still be parked here at 9 a.m., and will the meter be checked between then and the time I return? (There’s no charge before 9.) If I arrive at 8:30, I generally end up putting in three quarters to allow myself an hour, thereby paying for half an hour more than I actually will owe. My sense of injustice at this is tempered by the knowledge of all the times I didn’t put money in at that time (for lack of change, let’s say), and yet did not get a $7 ticket.
There’s a second calculation: How long will I be? Will I have a second cup of coffee? A third? Will someone interesting join me at my table, and will the time fly? How long should I pay for?
When I’m feeling generous, I’ll put in a quarter more than my best guess. If I don’t take that long, then I’ve made a gift of 20 free minutes to the one who parks behind me. I feel most philanthropic.
But I’m a mere piker. This morning, as I stood before the meter and dug into my pocket for the coins, a changing digit on the meter caught my eye. The meter had just ticked down from 1:54 to 1:53. A free hour and fifty-three minutes!
As I crossed the street, I calculated my good fortune: Someone had put in an extra $1.50 in coins — or at the very least, $1.40. How long had that person been gone? Had he arrived for a long meeting, then realized he had to go home for something? Had an emergency come up?
My favorite theory is that some October Santa Claus, some person overflowing with loving kindness for his fellow man, had walked that block of Assembly with a sack full of quarters, filling each meter to the brim, chuckling softly to himself all the while, thinking what joy he would bring.
I could have gone back to walk up and down and check the other meters, but I didn’t. I like to leave that image intact.
When I came back, there was an hour and 20 minutes left. I smile to think of the next person to park there, and the pleasant surprise he or she will encounter.
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I had a similar experience last week; the meter I parked at had 1:56 left on it.
I guess that’s the end of that story.
Wow. This second bit of anecdotal evidence proves it conclusively: The Meter Santa is real. Exact same M.O. and everything — a free hour and fifty-something minutes.
Whatever became of the idea for the meter patrol to mark car tires with chalk to designate when they had parked and to check on them after 90 minutes? That served the purpose of preventing auto “loitering” without burdening potential shoppers with feeding a meter. I never seem to have change for the meter and frankly it can become costly if you need to park frequently. It has certainly cost businesses near meters many a purchase from me. Has anyone else refused to shop in an area that has parking meters?
Yep. I resent having to pay for a parking spot, and then pay for whatever it was that I came there for in the first place. Its a shame the city and the businesses can’t work together to build a large parking garage, use the fees generated from spaces to pay for it, then, when paid for, allow the various businesses, say within a two block radius to validate the ticket so the parking would be free. Sooner or later free parking would be available. And maybe more of it.
Spurrier is the Meter Santa. The Plundering Pullets have won five out of six games, so it must be him. He travels the streets with quarters to keep Columbia happy and placate his brethren, the football gods.
I bet you heard Also Sprach Zarathustra, colloquially known as the Theme From 2001, floating about the parking meter.
How many people know Nietzche’s book of the same title, which proclaims God dead, inspired the theme for the Gamecocks’ much ballyhooed entrance?
I wonder if Spurrier knows.
Or is it that he actually gives no quarter?