On Tuesday, I was exhausted. I had worked hard all day and only came back to my apartment for dinner. I still had a major project to finish and needed to go back to my office. Normally, I'm only too happy to walk to school since it only takes 15 minutes, provides the only exercise I get these days, and saves gas. This day, however, I felt I owed myself a ride.
Parking regulations in the lot next to the math building are only enforced until 6, so I could safely park in any spot. Even after hours, people seem to avoid parking in the spot reserved for the dean. Feeling a bit cheeky, I took it myself.
I worked long and hard on my project. As I left, security guards were prowling the building and there was a danger of tripping an alarm if I exited through the wrong door. I was pretty tired, so to keep from sulking over the sleep I had lost, I picked some cheerful music from my iPod for the walk home.
Walk home.
The significance of these last words did not occur to me until Saturday afternoon when I found that my truck was not parked in its usual spot by my apartment. A black horror overcame me as I realized that—in my exhaustion—I had forgotten that I needed to extract my vehicle from "Reserved for the Dean: $50 fine, towing enforced."
I trudged to the campus police office listening to the march from "1941"—normally a sure-fire way to cheer me up. Passing the math building, I noticed something odd: my truck was still parked in the dean's spot.
"Great," I thought, "so, instead of a single $50 ticket and a towing/storage fee I get three $50 tickets?"
I checked the wipers. No tickets.
"Then it's the boot! Oh, no! Anything but the boot!"
I looked down. No boot.
"So... do I just drive away?"
I checked the rest of my truck. Nothing out of the ordinary. I looked around for cops (sometimes they toy you by letting you think you've gotten away with it). There was no indication that my truck and I had violated anything.
Safely on the road home, I said a prayer of thanks. Specifically, I promised three of my first four children to any god that could prove his involvement, but suffice to say I was relieved.
Now, I happen to know several people who have been ticketed (or worse) for parking in that lot without a permit. They parked in the ordinary stalls (aware of the risks) and came back in a couple of hours only to discover that justice had been delivered in their absence. I parked in the prime location (flippantly enough that I forgot) and wandered back half a week later without consequences. Since every other factor is stacked in favor of my receiving a harsher punishment, I can only conclude that whatever forces guard wayward parkers are fond of my insolence, irony in general, or both.
Parking regulations in the lot next to the math building are only enforced until 6, so I could safely park in any spot. Even after hours, people seem to avoid parking in the spot reserved for the dean. Feeling a bit cheeky, I took it myself.
I worked long and hard on my project. As I left, security guards were prowling the building and there was a danger of tripping an alarm if I exited through the wrong door. I was pretty tired, so to keep from sulking over the sleep I had lost, I picked some cheerful music from my iPod for the walk home.
Walk home.
The significance of these last words did not occur to me until Saturday afternoon when I found that my truck was not parked in its usual spot by my apartment. A black horror overcame me as I realized that—in my exhaustion—I had forgotten that I needed to extract my vehicle from "Reserved for the Dean: $50 fine, towing enforced."
I trudged to the campus police office listening to the march from "1941"—normally a sure-fire way to cheer me up. Passing the math building, I noticed something odd: my truck was still parked in the dean's spot.
"Great," I thought, "so, instead of a single $50 ticket and a towing/storage fee I get three $50 tickets?"
I checked the wipers. No tickets.
"Then it's the boot! Oh, no! Anything but the boot!"
I looked down. No boot.
"So... do I just drive away?"
I checked the rest of my truck. Nothing out of the ordinary. I looked around for cops (sometimes they toy you by letting you think you've gotten away with it). There was no indication that my truck and I had violated anything.
Safely on the road home, I said a prayer of thanks. Specifically, I promised three of my first four children to any god that could prove his involvement, but suffice to say I was relieved.
Now, I happen to know several people who have been ticketed (or worse) for parking in that lot without a permit. They parked in the ordinary stalls (aware of the risks) and came back in a couple of hours only to discover that justice had been delivered in their absence. I parked in the prime location (flippantly enough that I forgot) and wandered back half a week later without consequences. Since every other factor is stacked in favor of my receiving a harsher punishment, I can only conclude that whatever forces guard wayward parkers are fond of my insolence, irony in general, or both.
