No Parking Here to Corner.

There is a law in the town where I grew up. On-street parking is banned between midnight and 5:00 AM.  If you have overnight guests who can not fit their car in the driveway you must go down to the police station to get a special permit for overnight on-street parking.  This ordinance seems rather persnickety but it keeps the streets clear and prevents would be ne'er do wells from casing the well appointed houses.  To this day I resent  non-residents parking their car in front of my house for anything other than short local visitations.  Besides, having cars parked all over the street debases the suburban context of the neighborhood.  Especially if the owners live in the apartment complex a block away.  This isn't Philadelphia after all.  We have driveways for a reason.  And if my thoughts are subtly tinged with elitism then I plead guilty by cultivation. I hate cars parked in the street for the same reason I don't golf:  The only private golf course in my hometown of Rockville Centre, NY  had an unwritten exclusionary agreement that Jews were never to be admitted as members.  So when I grew up, cars were never parked in the street all night long and Jews simply did not golf.  At least no Jews that I knew of in high school.  Those notions are as much a part of my psyche as never being without a number two pencil and a pad of lined paper on which to keep track of the things I need to do.

That is why my latest agitation has so profoundly affected me.  The incident brought together these two fundamentally different, yet equally sacrosanct, principles in my life:  Don't ever violate residential parking rules and always have some form of lined paper on hand.  In this particular affair, I violated the first rule and the offended party violated the second rule.  And in this perfect axiomatic storm we can clearly see that two wrongs do not make a right.


The transgressions occurred on the evening of my office Christmas party (Jews might not golf but we do attend Christmas parties).  The restaurant we had chosen for the gala is in a residential neighborhood and there is little, if any off-street parking for the patrons.  So the street is normally crowded with cars parked in front of the homes near the establishment.  A situation which I, by the way, find abhorrent for the homeowners.  But I was not involved in the zoning decision to allow the restaurant to expand without a parking lot so what blame can I have?  None if you ask me.  Especially since it was dark and there was no sign stating "No Parking Here to Corner".  There is always a sign specifying this rule.  Even if the corner curb is painted yellow.  A very faded yellow, I might add, hardly even visible the next morning in the full light of day.  It just so happens that there was a driveway curb cut right on this corner so when I did park there I made sure to be at least two feet from the apron so as not to block the driveway.  And as I previously specified, I did not notice a yellow painted curb.  If I broke the law it was not due to a wanton disregard but rather an inattentive ignorance.

So when I arrived back at the car after a joyful night with my coworkers, I was rather shocked to find the following note tucked under my windshield wiper:

The note was presumably written by the homeowner in front of whose house I parked.  So I further presume he had access to whatever stationery supplies one normally has in one's home.  A stapler and some paper clips perhaps.  Maybe scotch tape especially since it is the week before Christmas and there are presents to wrap.  Or how about a legal pad and at least some form of writing paper?  And no, I cannot believe this particular homeowner has so fully embraced the paperless revolution as to use only an iPad, iPhone, and Word.  Because if that were the case then some inkjet paper would have at least been available.  This venomous note lost some of its gravitas not because of basic grammatical errors (who hasn't confused you're with your) nor because he dragged my innocent car into his double scatological metaphor (I may indeed be an asshole, but my automobile is certainly no piece of shit).  No, even though I truly feel horribly hypocritical for illegally parking in front of his house I cannot but help to lose some of my sympathy because his note was written on a sheet of Bounty paper towel.  As for the arrows over the i's I have not a clue.  I believe this guy must be the same one who showed up to every test in high school without a number two pencil.

I seriously flirted with the idea of knocking on his door to apologize but then I remembered that the guy who never owned a number two pencil was also the same one who gave me wedgies in the locker room after gym class and stole my desserts during lunch.  No, some amends are best left unsaid.