The other day, I received my second parking ticket in Santa Monica. The night before, there were no spots available on my street, so I had to park on the road that prohibits parking from 3:00 am to 5:00 am. Although I was talking on the phone at the time, I attempted to make a mental note to remind myself to move my car before going to sleep that night. Apparently, my brain isn’t as high-functioning as I had hoped, and it wasn’t until I was brushing my teeth the next day that my reminder resurfaced in my head. I ran outside to tend to my car, and sure enough, my second ticket within three weeks was waiting for me on my windshield. I don’t know what it is, but receiving a parking ticket seems to be one of the most frustrating “First World Problems” that I’ve experienced. I realize that I disobeyed the parking rule, but is it really worthy of a $64 ticket? According to the Santa Monica parking enforcement, it is.
I liken this experience to when I got a detention in high school for having my shirt untucked. Yes, the dress code stated that we should keep our shirts tucked in at all times, but wouldn’t it be easier to just ask me to tuck it in instead of giving me a detention? My chemistry teacher didn’t think so as he gleefully sentenced me to one hour of after-school detention. It was the only detention I ever received, and it was a far cry from The Breakfast Club. Instead of sitting in a library with 4 other delinquents, I was placed in Solitary (I had to sit alone at a desk in his classroom and think about my “offense”). While in detention, I attempted to play the game, Snakes, on my Nokia under the desk, but the warden quickly confiscated my phone. Clearly, I still harbor some resentment for that chemistry teacher. I saw on the news a few years ago that he had been arrested for illegally video-taping his daughter’s underage friends while they undressed, so I guess that karma caught up to him. The moral of that story is: Look out Santa Monica Traffic Officer, what goes around comes around…
I was relieved to escape the vengeful eye of the street parking monitor this past weekend, as it was my turn to park in the garage. That emotion quickly dissipated as I was leaving for my writers’ workshop. While exiting the garage, the entire right side of my car scraped against the gate. I didn’t know whether to reverse or continue driving, so I elected to continue going through the gate before it shut on me. As soon as I texted my sister for words of sympathy, she responded, “I’m surprised it took you this long to knock the car up.” That's the kind of support that only sisters can provide.
All of these misfortunes have led me to conclude that my new/old car is cursed. Within three weeks, I’ve run out of gas, gotten two parking tickets, ruined a tire, and now etched a racing stripe into one side of my car. There’s a possibility that these events could have something to do with my poor driving skills and complete disregard for street signs. But no, I’m pretty certain that it’s just my bad “carma.”
I liken this experience to when I got a detention in high school for having my shirt untucked. Yes, the dress code stated that we should keep our shirts tucked in at all times, but wouldn’t it be easier to just ask me to tuck it in instead of giving me a detention? My chemistry teacher didn’t think so as he gleefully sentenced me to one hour of after-school detention. It was the only detention I ever received, and it was a far cry from The Breakfast Club. Instead of sitting in a library with 4 other delinquents, I was placed in Solitary (I had to sit alone at a desk in his classroom and think about my “offense”). While in detention, I attempted to play the game, Snakes, on my Nokia under the desk, but the warden quickly confiscated my phone. Clearly, I still harbor some resentment for that chemistry teacher. I saw on the news a few years ago that he had been arrested for illegally video-taping his daughter’s underage friends while they undressed, so I guess that karma caught up to him. The moral of that story is: Look out Santa Monica Traffic Officer, what goes around comes around…
I was relieved to escape the vengeful eye of the street parking monitor this past weekend, as it was my turn to park in the garage. That emotion quickly dissipated as I was leaving for my writers’ workshop. While exiting the garage, the entire right side of my car scraped against the gate. I didn’t know whether to reverse or continue driving, so I elected to continue going through the gate before it shut on me. As soon as I texted my sister for words of sympathy, she responded, “I’m surprised it took you this long to knock the car up.” That's the kind of support that only sisters can provide.
All of these misfortunes have led me to conclude that my new/old car is cursed. Within three weeks, I’ve run out of gas, gotten two parking tickets, ruined a tire, and now etched a racing stripe into one side of my car. There’s a possibility that these events could have something to do with my poor driving skills and complete disregard for street signs. But no, I’m pretty certain that it’s just my bad “carma.”
