Perspective

This evening on my way home from work I decided to grab take out at a great restaurant in my neighborhood, but I couldn’t find a parking place.  It was cold and I didn’t have a coat.  After driving around the block a few times, I decided to roll the dice by parking in one of two “ATM only” spots in the lot of a neighborhood bank.  I figured I could run across the street, place an order, hit the restroom, come back to the car, find a spot, and by the time I found a new spot my order would be ready.  I walked about a block to the restaurant placed my order, hit the bathroom, and walked back to my car.  From the time I left my car to the time I returned to the lot, I was gone less than 7 minutes.  I figured worst case, I might see a tow truck pulling into the lot as I arrived. 

I’m sure you’ve already predicted this, but when I got to the lot my car (”Captain Thunderbolt”) was missing.  I went back, told the bartender to hold the to go order for 20 minutes, I hopped in a cab, and went to the tow truck center to get my car.

Brief aside – I was especially stressed because I’ve had a busy week, mostly doing nonbillable work, so while being pushed to the limit to finish everything I’m supposed to be doing, I’m still falling behind on my “billable hour” target.  My laptop and other papers I needed were in the trunk, so I really had to have my car that night.

In the cab I kept thinking about how improbable, no impossible, it would be for the tow truck to be called, load up my car, and vanish it before I could return.  Then it occurred to me that in a neighborhood with no parking, lots of other dumb-asses like myself take the same risk and leave their car sitting for a few minutes at that exact same spot.  The tow truck waits in a nearby alley where somehow I cant see them, but they can see me parking illegally.  As soon as I rounded the corner, and it was clear I wasn’t going to the ATM, they swept into action.

The cab arrives, the cabbie feels my pain and calls the tow truck company “mother fuckers.”  As a result, I tip him a little extra.  As I climb the staircase, I’m fuming.  I’m writing a fiery speech in my head about their predatory industry, a moment of calm reason takes over and I try to decide if I’m better off threatening becoming a pain in their ass or just pleading for mercy, then calm reason passes and I’m fuming again.  As I walk in, the phone rings and the lone attendant takes the call and takes forever.  Then a couple follows me into the reception “room” which has about the same footprint as my sofa.  I learn that the couple is on their first date, but the incident seemed to bring them closer and they having a good time.  Finally the heavily tattooed and pierced young woman came back to the Plexiglas window and told me I owed her $100 for the 15 minutes they have held my tiny car.  As I was just about to commence speech giving, the lady from the couple said “do you like your job.”  The pierced, tattooed lady said she hated her job, and that her car was towed three times in the last few weeks, and she had to pay the same rate we did.  I imagine it takes quite a few hours sitting in that booth, dealing with angry dip-shits like me to make $300.  I gently slid my card under the Plexiglas window, paid the lady, and left.  I did peel out a little, but they had that coming.