How to park your car: a severe drama

[hectorberlioz]

How to park your car in a large city: a severe drama.

NOTE: Small inconsistencies in the beginning. Please forgive!

Jonathan Small grew up a country lad, and thus appreciated cities whenever he could. He almost never drove in the city because he’d always been lucky to ride with a friend.


The first place he visited was Wal-Mart. Then he went to K-Mart because they might have something Wal-Mart didn’t. But they did not.

After a grand shopping in four different stores he decided to visit the museum of Pre-Historic America. When he arrived near the building, there suddenly sprang a dilemma he had not thought of before: where to park. He was in no luck to find that a combination of road-construction and filled parking-meter areas prevented him from parking close to the Museum. So he went down a quiet road or two, and missed the sign that indicated a dead-end. So he had to turn around in someone’s driveway. That someone stepped outside and asked him if he needed help with directions. “Thank You kindly ma’am, but I’m alright.” And he continued to back out of her driveway. But what’s this? Someone is walking behind the car. He waits a moment, but the person has not yet moved out from behind the car. Ah, here they come. “Cool bumper sticker dude!” “Thanks.” So now he decisively pulls out, and backs into a trashcan, which might not have been so bad if it had not contained glass bottles which were now broken all over the driveway. That person whose driveway he had pulled out of frowns vigorously from the porch. He gets out and asks her if he can pay her for the damage. “Sure you can sir, YOU SHOULD!” He gives her a fifty-dollar bill. She seems content enough; perhaps it was more than she would have gotten from turning the bottles in to a recycler. Ah now I can finally go…
But the dump-truck comes down the dead-ender to pick up trash. “Aw, here comes another one, why don’t he just stay OUT?” this from Madam on the porch.
The dump-truck driver smiles at him and indicates that he will back up to let him pass. And so he does, and Jonathan Small waves to him gratefully.

His parking dilemma is still not solved. He drives around the square looking for a place, and he finally sees one. It is an extremely convenient one, at the head of a row of parking meter spots. He carefully backs into the spot, gets out of the car, and happily dumps three hours worth of change into the parking meter. He walks away towards the museum, and does not notice the fallen paper notice on the ground next to the meter: Do Not Park, Out of Order. He would also not have noticed that the meter did not start the clock. It looked as if he had never dropped a dime in it…
Imagine his surprise, when he came out of the boring museum to find an older policewoman standing next to his car writing a ticket. He gave her the benefit of the doubt… “Good day ma’am.” She did not look so good-day-ish however, and she smiled a smile so small it was hardly noticeable. Jonathan, who always tried to look for the best in people, strained to see forgiveness in the policewoman, but he tried in vain.

“Forget the time sir?”
“I guess I did! I was sure I left a half hour before my time would be up though Ma’am.”
“Yeah, well you overstayed this time sir.”
“Sorry ‘bout that.”
She said nothing and coldly handed him a ticket for $500.00. He checked his watch again…he’d been sure it was around almost 1:00 when he walked into the museum, and it was almost 2:30. That was not three hours; he should have a lot of time left on the meter. He opens his mouth to explain this to the policewoman, but she is just reminding him …”and if you think you’re going to overstay your time, put extra change in there just in case, this way you’ll have a few extra minutes…”
“Right, right, right” he kept saying agreeably to go along with argument…but inside, though he thought no evil of her, he was annoyed that this should happen to him and then have to get lectured…

So Jonathan Small left that area of the square, and drove to the library, and thankfully there was a carport area. After snailing around for quite a time looking for a spot, he decided to risk the “Expectant Mothers” spot, and he was happy to find one of his mother’s baby-care magazines in his floorboard. He dusted it off and put it on the dashboard.

When he came out from the library he was relieved to find no parking ticket on his car. “Isn’t it the funniest thing,” he thought to himself, “that when I do somthin’ honest I get in trouble for it, and when I’m dishonest I get away with it?”

He spoke too soon however, for just across at the next parking row was another policewoman. He ducked away behind his car, but she saw him. He smoothly went into act and pretended he had been picking up something. Lucky for him there was a lost milk-jug cap. The policewoman strolled over to him; he smiled and showed her the piece of trash.

“Just hate it when people litter,” he said, and pocketed the piece of junk.
“So do I,” said the pretty policewoman. “That’s not your car is it?” she nodded to his car.
“Aw, nah…I’ve got a red truck,” he said, and picking red because there were many, many, trucks of that color in here.

“Ah, ok. I was just asking because a lot of people think it’s ok to park there as a last choice. I hate it when that happens.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. People just don’t have much respect for others these days.”

“As an expectant mother myself, I know how frustrating it is to find a parking spot close enough to buildings…”

So she was pregnant? He had not noticed. He quickly glanced at her belly: it didn’t look pregnant to him.

“…pregnant woman have a hard time walking later on when their stomachs get bigger…”

“Right, right, right…” he found himself agreeing again. He said “so what are you doin’ working whit that by inside?”

“Oh, I just found out yesterday. I have to stop working soon enough.”

“Right, right, right…” Shut up stupid, he thought to himself.

“Hot today ain’t it?” he said.

“Yeah, but thank goodness for the cool evenings.”

By now the policewoman apperantly figured the conversation was over, and said “Well, I’ll let you go.”

“Alright, take care. I’ve got to run back up and make a call…” He HAD to stay away from his car long enough for her to go away…

“Oh! Would you like to use my cell phone?” she asked, pulling it out of her pocket. He was about to decline, but since she had it out he thought better of hurting her feelings.

The trouble was he didn’t have anyone he really had to call. He thought furiously for any reason in the half second it took her to hand the phone to him. On the spur of the moment he called his mom. It rung twice and his mother’s voice asked, “Hello?”

“Yeah, ma…” the volume was up loud, perhaps the policewoman could hear?
“Jonathan? I didn’t recognize your number…” darn, his mother had revealed he owned a cell phone.
“Uh, yeah I know…I dropped it on the hot pavement earlier today, Ma. Um did anyone call for me today?” Now he got the hang of it, he remembered that his insurance company was supposed to call.
“About your insurance?” asked his mother, “No, but Jimmy called from the shop and said he has the glove-compartment replacement for your Corsica.”

Darn it. Darn it very, very much. If the policewoman looked for it, she’d see the Corsica and figure out…He had to pull himself out of this one.

“Well, I didn’t drive the car today, Ma…I, uh…Richard let me borrow his truck. I left my car at Wal-Mart, it has a flat. Richard is up in the library on the ‘net.” Good stuff he thought to himself, now all he needed to do was call up Richard and tell him to go along with the lie. “Well-” his mother began, but he decided quickly he didn’t want her to give anything else away… “Gotta go ma, love ya.”
He handed the phone back to the policewoman, and she in turn handed him a ticket. She had figured it out. His mother’s sayings about women having a deeper intuition than men sprang to mind suddenly.

He bowed his head, he simply did not know what to say. This was beyond excuses, this was pure, unabated humiliation.
He wished he was one of those obnoxious dudes who insulted police authority every chance they could, but of course he only wished he had been in a situation to use insults spontaneously without having to offend a pregnant officer…

“I just…” she seemed embarrassed too, “…you said it was your truck, but…” she didn’t finish explaining, but yes of course, she had figured he was making an alibi with “Richard”, and then realized the first alibi of having to make a call…obviously.

He suddenly felt like he was in a lousy romance movie, because he was feeling ashamed the way a boyfriend feels ashamed every time the girlfriend finds him out. This thought made him even more ashamed when he remembered this was a married policewoman…

He looked up for the first time in what seemed ages, and she was actually smiling. It wasn’t an “oh, but why don’t we go somewhere together” smile, rather it seemed she had witnessed the stupidest clown-act ever known to mankind.

“I’m uh…really sorry,” he said. She blurted “Who you need to apologize to is all the pregnant women who can’t find a parking spot when they need to!”
She had the expression of an exasperated mother lecturing a child. Jonathan Small hung his head for what seemed the millionth time, and his head may as well fall off he thought.

After all this trouble in town, he felt exhausted and wanted to go to bed. His mother asked how he felt, and he mumbled something. He called up his friend James, who suggested that he sue the policewoman, because apperantly she was wrong to hand him the ticket in such a situation. Jonathan thought this was ridiculous, and after his friend had gotten as far as suggesting that he sue the whole city police, he’d had enough and cut off the conversation.

[sun-star]

Is this a true story?

[hectorberlioz]

No...it just arose out of frustration when I couldn't find a parking spot

[Butterbeer]

Is this a true story?

dunno - i ain't read it yet ...

but more importantly Sunstar - are you with us or against us?