File: Oops!

I giftwrapped the template (about the only thing I'm giftwrapping around here) to reflect a certain December mood. Hooray for green, red, blue, and yellow.

So, this has been the week of parking woes. Last Saturday eve, Matt's mom came into town to help us with the new home. We decided to meet Matt's Aunt Pat for dinner near her condo in Evanston. It had been snowing pretty hard the day before -- some of my colleagues couldn't even get into work. So, we felt pretty lucky when we found a dug-out on-street parking space. We parked the car and continued down the street for dinner.

After eating a pretty good Asian feast, we were walking back down the street. My dad called to see how things were going, and I was chatting with him as we walked. Let me put you in the moment (and change tenses mid-paragraph): At the front of street, we see a bunch of tow trucks. Oh, I think to myself, what a shame. Some idiot parked in the wrong place. Then, I look down the street. There are tow trucks and police cars lining the street.

Alert to the idea that something may be wrong, I look beside me to see a blur of color racing past. A second or two later, I realize that blur of color was my spouse, yelling expletives. I put tow and tow together* and get that they are about to tow our car. Yikes. I hang up on my dad, and start running down the street behind Matt. (Note: this is an icy street.)

By the time I make it to the center of the flashing orange lights, Pip, our beloved Scion XA, is up on the towing doohick. Matt has successful convinced the traffic official to release the car. The guy was pretty nice about it, but ticketed us anyway, as a warning not to park on the street when the city declares a snow emergency. (A snow what?)

Cut to Wednesday evening. I'm due at the HowStuffWorks Christmas party at a downtown bowling alley called 10Pin. Deciding that I'm way too smart to park in the $30 garage below the House of Blues, I find a meter on Kinzie. I'm a little weirded out because it does say "No Parking - Tow Zone," but I figure, there's a meter. I had once gotten a ticket when I parked on Halsted for a similar offense. I contested the ticket and won because the meter and the sign were conflicting. I figured that surely the city had learned its lesson. Besides, I thought, there are guys valeting cars to this very section. A valet wouldn't put a car in a tow area, right?

I never got to find out. The abridged version: Matt attempts to find the car. He is unsuccessful. He arrives at the party to find out where I parked it. I give him directions. He arrives forty minutes later, very cold and pretty hot under the collar. He couldn't find the car. My group had effectively closed down the party and were ready to leave.

I had previously offered to take Alex, my co-worker, home. Ken, my boss, offers to walk us to the car. (A man with experience, he must have known that the car would be nowhere in sight.) The four of us leave and go to where I parked the car. In place of Pip is a silver VW Rabbit, as if Pip had taken the blue pill from Alice in Wonderland and shrunk.

--Um, buddy, I say. I think they towed the car.
--Are you sure you parked it here?
--Oh yeah.

We continued walking to Ken's house, and he was nice enough to drive all three of us home, despite living two blocks away from the fiesta. I expected Matt to more angry than he was. He really should have chewed me out, but didn't, really. He wasn't upset (that much) that I did a stupid and got the car towed. It was walking around in the cold that got him.

Oops. I have learned my lesson on that one. Sorry, honey.

I was able to retrieve the car the next day, again another nice thing that my wonderful boss did for me, as he insisted on driving me to what we found was the underbelly of the city. A lot of seedy workings from the city that works. My favorite episode: the website said that it would cost $100 to retrieve my car. When I called to make sure that my car was actually at the impound lot they said it would be at, the guy told me that I needed to bring $170. I replied that the website said it would be less. His pithy retort: "Your car isn't in a website."

Oh, how I love this city. And will be more protective about where I place Pip. In downtown Chicago, a $30 valeted parking garage is a steal.

*deliberate bad pun