I thought that I had left my car troubles in Texas, but I was wrong. At my new apartment, my roommate and I currently alternate parking in our reserved space in the garage, which means that my car is banished to the streets three nights a week. The first night that I set out to find suitable accommodations for my car, I found a prime spot right in front of my apartment building. I carefully studied the sign by the meter to ensure that it was safe to park. The sign read “2 Hour Parking from 9:00am to 6:00pm” and “No Parking Tuesdays from 7:00am to 9:00am.” My recent move had made me so discombobulated that I completely lost track of the days, and I thought that it was Sunday night (it was, in fact, Monday night). The next morning, I ran down to put money in the meter before 9:00am to discover that I had been gifted with a $64 ticket for parking on a Tuesday between 7:00am and 9:00am. I guess this was Santa Monica’s version of a welcome basket? Thanks for the friendly reception, Santa Monica. Lesson learned.
I went three whole days before experiencing any other car troubles, but my work troubles had more than made up for it. After what seemed like the longest 3-day work week of my life, I couldn’t wait to get into my car and go pick up my mom from the airport (she had decided to detour to LA on the way to her spa getaway in San Francisco). When I got to my car, I noticed that there was another ticket on my windshield! How could I possibly have committed a parking violation while parked in my office’s parking garage?! Then I opened up the sheet of paper and realized that it wasn’t a ticket after all. Instead, it was a handwritten note scolding me for my poor parking job (pictured above). While I disagreed with the offended party’s tone, I appreciated the fact that, in the time of text messages, twitter, and emails, someone still took the time to compose a hand-written letter, even if its purpose was to criticize my abysmal parking skills.
Undeterred, I got into my car and shifted my focus back to the happy reunion that I was going have in a few hours with my mother (it had been 10 days since I had left South Bend so we had a lot to catch up on). As I turned onto W Beverly Dr, a warning light appeared on my dashboard. I was initially relieved that it wasn’t my gas light, but my worry returned when I read in the manual that the signal indicated low tire pressure. I pulled into a gas station, and I discovered that my left rear tire was down to 10 psi (all of the other tires were at 35 psi). Now I’m not accusing my parking critic of flattening my tire, but I did find the two events awfully coincidental.
After I had dropped my mom back off at LAX this morning, I drove to Firestone to have them determine the cause of my deflated tire. Sure enough, there was a nail in it. I asked the mechanic if it was possible for someone to have planted the nail in my tire, and he just smiled, shook his head and dismissed my comment. Clearly he was in cahoots with the parking monitor. The mechanic went on to tell me that the nail was too close to the sidewall, so the tire was unable to be repaired. Having absolutely no idea what any of this meant, I just asked how much I owed. I prepared myself for the worst when the cashier announced that my sister had bought a warranty for the tires, and my total for a new tire was going to be $28. Finally I caught a break. Would this be the end of my bad luck with my new car? Stay tuned (and knock on wood).
I went three whole days before experiencing any other car troubles, but my work troubles had more than made up for it. After what seemed like the longest 3-day work week of my life, I couldn’t wait to get into my car and go pick up my mom from the airport (she had decided to detour to LA on the way to her spa getaway in San Francisco). When I got to my car, I noticed that there was another ticket on my windshield! How could I possibly have committed a parking violation while parked in my office’s parking garage?! Then I opened up the sheet of paper and realized that it wasn’t a ticket after all. Instead, it was a handwritten note scolding me for my poor parking job (pictured above). While I disagreed with the offended party’s tone, I appreciated the fact that, in the time of text messages, twitter, and emails, someone still took the time to compose a hand-written letter, even if its purpose was to criticize my abysmal parking skills.
Undeterred, I got into my car and shifted my focus back to the happy reunion that I was going have in a few hours with my mother (it had been 10 days since I had left South Bend so we had a lot to catch up on). As I turned onto W Beverly Dr, a warning light appeared on my dashboard. I was initially relieved that it wasn’t my gas light, but my worry returned when I read in the manual that the signal indicated low tire pressure. I pulled into a gas station, and I discovered that my left rear tire was down to 10 psi (all of the other tires were at 35 psi). Now I’m not accusing my parking critic of flattening my tire, but I did find the two events awfully coincidental.
After I had dropped my mom back off at LAX this morning, I drove to Firestone to have them determine the cause of my deflated tire. Sure enough, there was a nail in it. I asked the mechanic if it was possible for someone to have planted the nail in my tire, and he just smiled, shook his head and dismissed my comment. Clearly he was in cahoots with the parking monitor. The mechanic went on to tell me that the nail was too close to the sidewall, so the tire was unable to be repaired. Having absolutely no idea what any of this meant, I just asked how much I owed. I prepared myself for the worst when the cashier announced that my sister had bought a warranty for the tires, and my total for a new tire was going to be $28. Finally I caught a break. Would this be the end of my bad luck with my new car? Stay tuned (and knock on wood).
