On Saturday my sister and I went for lunch and to do some shopping. We parked in a pay and display car park and could only scratch around for an hour’s parking money, so fed that in the meter, stuck the ticket on the door and went on our merry way. After an hour we were sitting in Wagamama (love!) and it was pouring outside. The idea of walking back to the other end of the town to feed the god of parking more cash was frankly disturbing. So we thought we would risk it.
Three hours later, arms full of shopping bags and feet tired, we walked back to the car. As we rounded the corner my sister caught sight of the ticket inspector; day glow yellow coat and severe look about him, ticketing the car next to me.
I swear I have never moved so fast. I sped up to my car and in one deft move, zapped the car doors open and whipped the ticket out, bunching it into a ball. Evidence destroyed. Never mind that I looked completely crazy; hair soaking from the rain and bags flying all over the place, at least I had triumphantly foxed one of the devils workers.
The ticket man frowned at me and said “I hadn’t noticed the time love, but next time I’ll give you a ticket. You are parked out of bay, he’s parked out of the bay. It’s not acceptable. Seventy quid. Pay attention”.
I had apparently missed the bay by mere centimetres, because the guy next to me had done the same.
Of course!! I was running back because I knew I was out of bay! I smiled sweetly, apologised, thanked him for being such a nice man and told him to have a lovely day. Sickly sweet and covered in sugar.
I got in the car where my sister was sitting, struggling to regain my breath after my Usain Bolt style sprint, and she said,
“I don’t get it. Both cars on either side of us had penalty tickets, as did all the ones around us. How did we escape that??!”
And with that, I would like to thank whoever was smiling down on my on Saturday. I bet it was my auntie. She never liked parking inspectors.