Baby, you can ticket my car

I was downtown running a few errands for work when she caught my eye. She was a vision in navy cargo pants, a polo shirt and an institutional-looking visor. 

The meter maid was out in her Wednesday best.

“I hope you have time in your meter,” said one of the women I was talking to.

“Oh, yeah, I should be fine.”

But in the back of my mind, I doubted myself. I had put in a quarter for 25 minutes, and while there’s no reason I shouldn’t have been able to accomplish everything I needed to do in that length of time, sometimes I get a little chatty.

“I’d be careful,” said another woman. “That one will stand there waiting for your time to run out.”

“Why would she do that?”

“She has to earn a salary, too,” said the first woman.

“You ladies are crazy. Well, I’m going to head out. Hope you have a great day.”

Stepping out onto the sidewalk, I surveyed the landscape to see where the meter maid had gone. She was nowhere to be seen.

As I headed over to the area I had parked, I started pressing the “lock” button on my key chain. I am a Sentra driver in a land of SUVs, so unless I initiate a little game of Marco Polo with my tiny car I usually can’t find it.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

I was getting closer.

But just as my bumper came into sight, so too did the meter maid. Sure enough, she was slipping a yellow envelope under my windshield wiper.

I had to wait for her to move away from my car to get to the door, and it was taking a while so I decided to say hello.

Actually, what I said was, “Heeeeeey.”

She looked up, startled.

“That thing for me?” I asked.

Then, because I wanted to show her I wasn’t mad about it, I winked at her.

“Oh, um, yes. But I, uh, haven’t entered it into the system yet. Why don’t you just throw it away?”

“Hey, thanks! I hope you have a great day. See you around!”

“Uh, yeah. You too.”

Did I make a new friend? Or, did I flirt myself out of a ticket? I’m not sure. Either way, it’s been a good day.

About Carrie

Writer by day, writer by night. Urban farmer/dog mama/baby mama/bicycle enthusiast/oenophile the rest of the time.
This entry was posted in City Living, Humor, Love, People, Regrets, Work. Bookmark the permalink.

1 Response to Baby, you can ticket my car

  1. Pingback: Living write: Navigating the clutter | Jackson's Journal

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