By Sarah Allen
I am not that religious, but I certainly believe that God created the world. And on the seventh day when God rested, there was no Department of Parking Services. Man may have seen fit to divide the world into sweep zones, loading zones and tow-away zones, but it is a higher power that owns the streets. The parking meter, the meter maid and the towing company all came about because Satan spawned the government. “It’s a job” is the defense used by people in this line of work. Making life harder for the human race is only a profession on the most simplistic level. Our job on this earth is to support each other and make a contribution. What kind of a contribution are you making when you tow away my car?
It’s Super Bowl Sunday. The parking lot next to my friend’s apartment building on Liberty Street is empty. The stores, restaurants and bars are all closed. Who am I hurting by parking there? Yes, I can read the rusty sign with the declaration from Rasputin telling me what would happen if I disobeyed his mighty word and parked. Maybe it’s because I like to walk on the wild side or because it’s Sunday in the Bible Belt, but I park. I do not know who owns that lot on Liberty Street, but I think they’re greedy
When you notice your car is gone, your stomach swallows your heart. A nauseating feeling takes over as you picture some grinning, toothy redneck loading up your car and driving away with it. You want to vomit at the idea of it riding through town like a public spectacle. What makes it worse is that the parking lot is still empty, yet someone felt the need to go to war with you over asphalt. I won’t compare it to being raped, but someone is taking something that isn’t theirs because you’re meaningless to them. And Lucifer makes a profit
After finding someone to take pity on you, you stop at the bank because Cujo only accepts cash. Crystal Wrecker Service is the filthiest place I’ve ever seen. There’s a layer of dirt on the floor so thick that you can hear your shoes grind. It occurs to me that this profession requires no talent or education. All you need to rip off a well-meaning citizen is a tow truck and some land surrounded by a barbed wire fence. After forking over your hard-earned dollars, you’re led to the desert of impounded vehicles. There’s a plethora of abandoned cars that nobody will ever be coming back for, and parked in the middle is your first-born: your car. Finally, you are free to drive away and contemplate the evils of the government and the greediness of people.
I write this as a cautionary tale because it is personal. We live in a warped world where land is possessed and taking away other people’s things isn’t stealing. I’m sorry I bothered your precious parking lot that one time. And while that night made me think about moving out west, becoming a Navajo and painting pottery for the rest of my life, I’m still here. I was going to raise lima beans and never pay my taxes. I could become an Eskimo, but they would just find a way to tow my sled. It’s my own fault for not accepting from the beginning my status in society as a peon. I am a sign-reading peon and a slave to Toothy the tow truck driver.
