A Parking Ticket? Me??

If you’ve read my previous blogs, then you know how careful (freaked out) I’ve been regarding the street parking here in the South Loop of Chicago. I’ve paid attention to street signs, checked online parking maps, and religiously checked my car’s vicinity for new “no-parking” notices. Imagine my dismay to return from my recent cross-country, fly/driving trip only to find a parking ticket on my previously only leaf-covered car.

Prior to taking my impromptu trip, I was excitedly planning to visit the Illinois DMV. After 27 years of #40XXX58, I was ready to replace my ODL with some official Chicago credentials. Besides the fact I desperately needed a new picture on my license, (it was taken during my short stint as a blonde and is not my favorite. Let’s face it, I’m a hardcore brunette) I was ready to become a real Chicagoan.  

Coming home and finding this ticket actually hit me pretty hard. I thought I was being so careful, but when I headed out to get groceries yesterday and saw that soggy piece of orange and white official-ness under my wiper, I wanted to cry. I was so careful during the road construction mess, when it seemed I had to move my car daily. I constantly placed my Soldier Field placard in the window …just in case there was an event I wasn’t aware of. Only to be undone by a previously unknown, City of Chicago website posted, street cleaning schedule. FYI: for the rest of the year street sweeping is “weather permitting” and apparently they will be posting signs. Good to know.

Getting this ticket jarred my pursuit of perfectionism (ego), because I hadn’t even thought to worry about street cleaning schedules. Where I’m from, street sweepers just drive around your car. They don’t ticket you for being in their way. The worst part is that my car sat there for four days with this ticket on the window, announcing to all the neighbors that I’m a parking genius (screw-up).

After whining about this ticket on Facebook, I have learned a few things: First, spending time complaining about getting a ticket is going to take up way too much time. Duly noted. Second, there are Chicagoans who actually have a monthly budget for parking tickets and red light tickets. Seriously? It must be true, because when I went online to pay my ticket, I saw they provide enough room to pay TEN tickets at a time! TEN!

And the last thing I learned? My piddly little $50 parking ticket is not worth crying over (my car wasn’t towed or booted right?)

So, on this gloomy rainy day where I am marinating in a Trader Joe’s French Vanilla ice cream soaked pity party over my parking incompetence, I decided it’s time to adjust my attitude about this ticket. Rather than viewing it as another new girl in town screw-up, I can accept it as my Welcome to Chicagoland Ticket. This credential is more official than any Illinois driver’s license.

My self-esteem will heal and my parking pride will survive. I’m sure more tickets will happen, so I will just make a budget and prepare to face them when they come. Meanwhile, I’m stocking up on French Vanilla ice cream.

Free Parking

Today I went to Target. Then I went to Best Buy.

I know. You’re thinking, “So what?”

Both places had free parking. That is a big deal in Chicago. Finding a good parking place is like finding a $100 bill in your sofa. Or a deed to an oil well in your attic. Seriously.

Tow trucks know how hard it is to find a parking spot so they cruise around ready to nab a car wrongfully parked by their desperate owner. For entertainment on game days, Steve will stand on his balcony just to watch the tow trucks at work. He says they are not too careful when they tow. They hook up to Hondas and BMWs alike by the front and yank them, scraping, squealing, and popping, sideways out of their parallel parking spaces. Yikes.

Not only is it hard to find a space, but when you finally do, you’ll have a hard time translating those impossible to translate parking signs. In Steve’s previous neighborhood, one side of the street would say “No parking on Wednesday”. So you figure that’s fine, I’ll just park on the other side of the street. Well, that side says “No parking on Tuesday” and “No parking on Snow Days”. What if it snows on a Wednesday? Where do you park then? So, even if you don’t move your car, you can still lose your space or, worse, your drive line.

Before moving and getting his space in the parking garage, Steve was in a constant state of hyper-weekday-awareness. “What day is this? Is it Wednesday, or still Tuesday?? Where did I park?” Working the overnight shift did not ease his anxiety; it made it worse. Going to work on a Tuesday and coming home on a Wednesday led to calendarial confusion. Tow trucks lurking like vultures didn’t help either. Now Steve works an evening shift and has his cozy covered, reserved parking space. He can sleep at night. At least he could until I showed up in my bug-covered, permit-less Pontiac.

It’s common to find opposite sides of the same street labeled differently. My side of the street says “No parking 2 hours before or 1 hour after events at Soldier Field, unless displaying resident parking permit.” The opposite side says, “No parking without Permit #968.” Go one block and it says, “No parking. Anytime.” Turn the corner and there are no signs. Anywhere. That’s the spookiest of all. You stand there looking around wondering what you aren’t seeing.

I needed to go shopping today and, normally, I would hate to move my car. It’s been in the same spot for over a week now with no problems (i.e. warnings, tickets or tows) so imagine my dismay when I went to check on my car (I do this daily because, well, read on and you’ll see why) I found a construction sawhorse on the side of the road with a tag saying “Tow Zone Oct. 7 to Oct. 10”. Being the 6^th it’s imperative I move my car. Now.

Since I need to move my car I may as well do some errands; thus the trip to Target and Best Buy. It’s actually not bad to park there since those stores share parking with other stores in their respective buildings. The tricky place to park is Whole Foods. Park in any one of their parking garages and you are greeted with signs saying, “Towing in Progress!” Say what?? I look around expecting snarling tow trucks to come whipping around the corner. All is quiet, however.

Apparently, when shopping at Whole Foods, one is required to shop at Whole Foods and ONLY Whole Foods. Don’t even think about crossing over the hallway to World Market or going up the escalator to DSW. Forget that they are in the same frigging building! With so many people going in and out of so many different doors, I don’t see how they can tell if I’m sneaking into Marshall’s or if I’m dutifully grocery shopping. Nevertheless, I’m not taking the chance. I would share with you my first traumatic experience trying to find the parking garage allowing access to DSW, but it’s so confusing I could never type it out. Besides, I’ve blocked half of it and only deep hypnosis could bring it back.

After finishing my errands, I face the daunting task of finding a place to park. Since Steve is at work, I could snag his space in the garage…uh…no. Even though he has all the proper permits and could park anywhere, I wouldn’t want the convertible on the street. I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t like it either.

So I begin to circle. I can practically feel the tow trucks breathing down my necks. All the usual signs are posted, but it’s the addition of these pesky sawhorses stating the city’s plans to dig up water lines that are causing me serious grief. One says Oct 7- 10, and another says Oct 6-12. Ugh. They’re digging up all these streets at once??

Finally, on 21^st street, just behind the alley leading to the parking garage, I see one empty spot. At first glance, I don’t see any signs. I was almost too frightened to park there. With cars behind me and no other options in sight, I throw it into reverse and do my not-so-smooth version of country girl parallel parking. After awkwardly parking, I walk up and down the street looking for signs. I check all the trees. They often completely cover signs creating an effective parking trap.

After I convince myself that all is good, I pop open my trunk only to remember I bought a small piece of furniture at Target. I should have taken it into the garage and up to the apartment before parking. Damn.

Tempted to just leave it all in the car, I grab the sack I could easily carry, walk up the alley, and deliver the goods to the apartment. After deciding I really wanted the little cupboard out of my trunk and in the apartment where it belongs, I decide to go get it. After seriously contemplating carrying it, I jump in the driver’s seat and leave my glorious parking space. I pull into the alley, through the garage door, park in Steve’s spot, run into the lobby to grab a luggage cart, load up the cupboard, and haul it up to the eighth floor. I quickly dispose of it through the door and scurry back down, luggage rack in tow.

I jumped back into my car, head out the garage door, down the alley, and turn the corner only to find . . . the car parked behind me had left and I could now pull straight into my recently vacated parking spot. No parallel parking required.

I’ll let you know tomorrow if my car is still there or if there’s nothing left but sideways tire marks.