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.

One Response to Baby, you can ticket my car

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

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