In the history of the time I’ve had this blog, I’ve kept my extreme emotions out of it. Typically, I don’t make disparaging comments to people or places, however, I must not hold back my disdain for the wretched, horrible, money-sucking, blood-curdling Parking Enforcement of the City of Los Angeles. I am finding the exorbitant parking ticket costs to be overkill on an already stretched budget.
Admittedly, I deserved two of the ones I was given but the other two were just horse manure.
If you’re not familiar with Los Angeles parking, most places have a minimum of two signs to read. Some of them are plain and simple but some of them are sneaky snakes: you can park here and there but not over yonder and not during these hours unless you have a sticker or hangy thing (but if you have a hangy thing, your choices are even more limited).
I feel like these signs might as well say stuff like, “You can’t park here on Monday 6A-6P but if you have a Permit, you’re cool, unless you’re Jewish and then you can’t park 6:30A-10:30A. Though, if you’re a war veteran or handicapped, we got you, Boo… you park anytime, anywhere–except where there’s red but if it’s like an orangish-red or blue, all good. Unless you have a purple, brown, or chartreuse colored car, then, well… we’re going to tow you immediately.”
At least we’d be entertained by reading these novel-esque signs.
Each parking ticket is upwards of $68. That’s one ticket. And that would be for something simple like parking on the wrong side of the street on the wrong day. There are two days of the week in which residents of my neighborhood must be mindful of side-of-the-street parking: Thursday and Friday. Why? Oh, a little whack-a-doo of a reason we call “Street Cleaning.”
I’ve seen the street cleaning vehicle, ladies and gentleman, and it might as well be an old man on a moped with brooms jimmie-rigged on the back. Much like a duster, these street cleaning vehicles just move the grime around. The trash doesn’t get sucked up into a magic wonderland of ick, just displaced to the otherside of the street.
The semi-good news is that you can contest your tickets–which I just found out is pretty easy–and from what I’ve heard, if you have a remotely solid reason, they’ll refund your fee in full. So, say a little prayer for your broke ass friend in LA.
Now in an effort to relieve tensions caused by this blog, I’m going to steal some animated GIFs from one of my favorite sites (which I’m not going to tell you because I don’t want you to visit and see all the stuff I’m going to steal from it–don’t worry, it stole all of it’s images, too, so it’s not like it’s a crime… chill).
When I walk out to my car and see that familiar white/red envelope with the $68 price tag, I’m like:
That is all.
P.S. I’m watching an episode of Season 2 from “Louie” where Mr. CK is trying to talk Dane Cook into helping him get his daughter Lady Gaga tickets and I must say… Dane Cook looks like he’s had some wonky face surgery. (If you’re reading this Dane, sorry, you’re still on my list).