I have a problem giving money to the city of Beverly Hills. It's an adamant problem. So when I get a ticket, I contest it...no matter what. If I've been parked overnight in a tow away, street cleaning, loading zone...double parking a fire truck, I'll contest it.
Yesterday, when I got off work after midnight, I had a ticket on my windshield. Forty dollars. If a parking cop approached me saying that it's just their job, they're just doing their job, I would likely make a reference to Satan or Hitler while backing away and shaking my judgmental finger, "No no no no no. Thank you. Enjoy your time in this world." It wouldn't be my most composed or proud moments, and I would likely be crueler than I ought to be...but that's life.
When I go to contest, I have this vision, this hope that I'm notorious in the Beverly Hills Parking Citation Office of Appeals. When one of mine come in...like this morning, a bell rings, red lights flash. They all rush to grab it until a winner reads it out loud...
"I arrived at the parking meter ten minutes to 5 in the afternoon, gathered my things, approached the meter with 5 quarters. I knew this would be a sufficient amount of money to provide parking in the space until 6 o'clock, when the meters are no longer enforced. When I dropped my quarters, all five, the meter would not exceed 1 hour paid. Immediately, I realized the malfunction, however, couldn't move my car because I had no quarters left. If you could check the drop logs, you will see that they will validate my story, and prove that this appeal is just and valid. Thank you kindly. Reilly Winburn Smith."
You may think I have better things to do. Or that I know what a drop log is...or if they even exist. Think again.
Jerry Springer's "Lesbian Snowball Fight" is on on the TV over my shoulder.
