When I get home tonight I'm going to be in trouble with the lady who writes the checks at my house. She was already ticked that I got a parking ticket yesterday. One day I lose my job, the next I bring home a ticket. Her position is that it's not that hard to avoid them. I was determined not to get another.
So on the way into town, I stopped to get a dollar's worth of change at Food Lion. So I was set.
The following things happened:
- I parked a block and a half from the federal building, but fortunately there was 54 minutes left on the meter, which was great. Despite my misadventures, I got back in time.
- Then I went to get breakfast, and as I dug in my pocket for the four quarters, and it was empty. Yes, when I got my keys and phones and such out of the little tray after going through the metal detector at the federal building, I had left the quarters. So I ran in and ate and got back to my truck within 15 minutes, and no ticket. Good.
- I had a lunch appointment with Bob McAlister (who has written a column that is sort of about me, which we will run online tomorrow) at the Summit Club (where he is a member and I am not, so I was his guest). I started to leave the office with plenty of time to get there, but I got slowed down by friends wanting to wish me well on my way out of the building. I finally got to the truck, and realized I had no change. I went back into the building, got two dollars worth, and another friend offered best wishes.
- I parked in front of Trinity Cathedral. Figuring on an hour, I put in enough for an hour and twenty minutes (that is, a dollar), and ran to meet Bob.
- One hour and twenty-four minutes later, I got to my truck and had a ticket.
I'm not sure what I'm going to tell Mamanem about this. It's not like I can sneak this by her; she keeps the checkbook.
You know, Mayor Bob (and council), you might lighten up just a LITTLE in this awful economy. I'm trying to keep the meters fed, I really am. But I can only move so fast sometimes, and I can only spend so much of my life thinking about making sure to have change in my pocket. I spent WAY too much time on that today, and still failed to avoid the wrath of Lovely Rita.
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Mayor Bob is afraid he’s not getting stimulus money (thanks Governor) so they are looking for funds elsewhere.
All the drivers in my family have noticed a significant uptick in the number of police out on the roads giving out tickets.
Coincidence?
Bob is history. More and more trouble is spilling out of the city of Columbia and the worst is yet to come. There is no one minding the shop and we are months away from hiring a city manager or cfo.
Bob, a part time mayor can’t guide this town out of trouble without quality people at the helm. Pack your stuff and save us the trouble and expense of kicking you out.
Well, what I’ve noticed, in all seriousness, is a lack of wiggle-room. I always try to feed the meter for the full time I’m parking, but that’s not always possible. It seems to me that until very recently, you could get away with a lapse now and then, when you just didn’t have enough change on you or whatever.
In recent days, it seems like if you go a few minutes over, they’ll get you. I consider myself way lucky that I got away with those 15 minutes while having breakfast this morning.
By the way, here’s the rest of the story.
My wife read this before I had a chance to tell her about the ticket, and it made her laugh. She said not to worry about it.
If I’d come home and put a ticket on the table, saying “I got another one,” I’d have been in trouble. By writing this, I got off easy. (Not least because this way, with the whole sad tale written out, she can see how hard I tried to avoid it.)
Am I good at this, or what?
Kathy M. shares this story, which I thought was great:
I had a different experience from you yesterday. I was in my Dad’s car yesterday. I left work and had to run by the Department of Natural Resources. I parked at a meter and put in a quarter, just needed to run in and out.
As I hurry down the street, I hear “ma’m, ma’m” and I turn around looking back toward my car and there stands a police officer. I think shoot – what did I do?
I walk up to him and he says, “Is this your car with the POW tag?” I say, “It is my Dad’s car.”
He says, “You don’t need to fill the meter, your family has suffered enough.”
WOW. I teared up.
My point being, next time ask to borrow my car if you need to run downtown!
Kathy
I can’t believe p.m. didn’t say anything about my mentioning Lovely Rita.
Oh, yeah, well, now we know how many holes it takes to fill the Albert Hall.
Next time, ride a bicycle.