So for those of you on my Facebook, you've seen my posts about getting towed. Because that happened to me. Tonight. Super fun. Please learn to read my sarcasm. Because it was really really not fun. Here's the little gem of a story of Alison being an idiot...
There's a street one block over where you can park your car for free. No meters. No permits required. You can never find a place to park. And there I was, driving in the rain last week when the heavens opened and the sun shone down and there was a parking spot! What had I done in my life for the gods to shine down upon me like this? What matter of karma had come back to keep me from having to walk blocks upon blocks in a monsoon? It wasn't really a monsoon, but it was raining pretty hard. Well sprinkling and I was feeling lazy. Don't judge me. If you can score a spot, you hoard it and guard it like a fat kid guards the last candy bar. You don't move your car. So, even when Ryan drove in from Slidell, I wouldn't give up the spot for him. "Nope," I said, "No way sucker. I earned that spot." So I left my car there for five glorious days and it was magical. I did worry about getting vandalized or car-jacked...this is New Orleans after all, so every night, MJ and I would take our little evening stroll and check on the car. Every night it was there. Content in it's temporary home less than a block from my apartment. Everything was right with the world for me and Mary Jane and the Nissan. But then, street sweeping day! Shit. Shit. Shit. Here I thought that this unholy and terrible day occurred every Thursday. I was wrong. If your car is on the street when those sweepers come through, you will face the wrath of the parking gods. I was struck down. The Nissan was winched up and towed away without so much as a see-ya-later to her heartbroken owner. Not that I knew this was happening at the time. I was blissfully unaware, dealing with aphids on my hibiscus. After eating a wonderful little dinner of macaroni and cheese, I figured it was time for Mary Jane and I to wander down to check on the car. I turn the corner and glimpse an SUV under the flood of the streetlights. I let out a breath of relief. She's there, I think. Oh no. She wasn't. Something didn't look right. I felt it in my gut. Something was very amiss. As we creeped closer to the spot, I begin looking up and down the street. The Nissan is GONE! My initial thought is that someone stole her, but then I glimpse the sign. Damn street sweepers. And I knew, it was no theft that robbed me of my Nissan, but rather my own stupidity and ignorance.
Mary Jane did not grasp the severity of the situation. She wanted to continue sniffing and rooting around and walking. Not me. We hightailed it back to the apartment. I had to find out what had happened to my beloved Nissan. What if she's not at the impound? Oh God! What if she was stolen? My heart raced and Mary Jane struggled to keep up with my panicked pace. The whole way, I mumbled "oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck" to myself. Some folks peered from their doorsteps at me like I was crazy. And I admit that I may have been at the time.
I look up the number for impound and place a frantic call to the desk. Are they open? Will I get her back? A lovely gentleman answers and informs me that yes, my vehicle was indeed locked away in the depths of impound, but I could come and get her now. I mean, this is New Orleans. I don't think anything ever really closes. So I scurry downstairs to meet the cab and I descend into the bowels of the city. Well, it wasn't that bad, but the impound was under an overpass and I was really creeped out. The cab driver gallantly assured me that he would wait until I was safely inside the tiny trailer that housed the impound clerk. So after $200, the Nissan was free. We were free.
Now, my first thought was that I would park her back on my street, but then I looked at myself in the rear view mirror and asked myself how stupid could I be in one day. Really, Alison? It's not like you don't have a damn parking garage in the Quarter that you pay $110 a month for. So, I grudgingly accepted the fact that I would have to walk several blocks back down Bourbon after parking the car. Let me tell you. Bourbon is gross and annoying when you're sober. Between puking frat boys and twerking strippers and homeless dudes begging to guess where I got my shoes from (seriously - it's the stupidest line ever), I fought my way down to Bourbon to the safety and comfort of my cute little apartment with my cute little dog knowing that my cute little Nissan is safely tucked in for the night.
The only thing that makes this story fun is that I get to tell Chase that Auntie Ali met Tow-mater.
All my love,
Ali
