Parking Meter Roulette
I should preface by mentioning The City of Cincinnati’s long-standing vendetta against me. I’ve been fined for jay walking, for getting hit on my bike by an SUV, and have also had the occasional displeasure of finding little orange slips of my windshield for “abandoning” a vehicle and for the occasional parking violation. Yet, when I am almost run down in plain sight of a cop, they do nothing. So today, it is with great relish that I say to the City of Cincinnati: “Up Yours, City of Cincinnati.” For today I played parking meter roulette and won.
It was pouring this morning when I was getting ready to bike to work (way too late to bus it). Also, the rain made my dog less than enthusiastic about taking his morning constitutional, thereby presenting the need for a mid-day walk, and while I sometimes ride home for lunch, Ravine Street hill makes me sweat like a fat man in a donut shop. So I drove. I parked in a 30 minute spot. I moved to a 60 minute spot, laying on the horn behind a couple of bankers having some sort of discussion about economics in their double parked SUV. I set my outlook calendar to remind me to feed the meter. I fed the wretched thing. I hustled. I waited one minute for my meter to expire so that I could get my free ten minutes. I returned to my vehicle to drive home on lunch to find the meter reading a satisfying zero. I drove home for lunch, took out Mose, put on my helmet, got on my bike and the sky opened up with a heavy deluge for my entire ride in (I’m still wet. Well probably not now, but as I was writing this).
I can see how easily this euphoria could become an addiction. In the tradition of Calvin Trillin’s Tepper, or that Seinfeld episode “The Dealership” in which Kramer explores the lower limitations of a fuel gauge, or George Costanza’s lascivious pursuit of perfect spots (which begs the questions, could there be a little Calvin in George? Or George in Calvin? And does city living make you petty?) Whatever the case, Parking Meter Roulette is a game of great rewards, but not for the faint of heart. From the New York Times February 12, 2002:
“Parking gives the parker a sense of power and territorial acquisitiveness, although temporary. Abjuring metaphorical implications, the fictional Tepper says, ”It’s just something I do.” After he finds a space, he generally remains in his car reading a tabloid newspaper until his time (on the meter, if there is a meter) expires. He always gets his money’s worth, which infuriates other drivers. Tepper couldn’t care less. He is doing nothing illegal. When asked if he is leaving, he wags his index finger, an all-purpose ”rule me out” gesture the author picked up in Europe.”
Tags: bike to work, cincinnati parking, parking meter roulette
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