It's kind of been one of those days-slash-weeks. Nothing has gone especially wrong, but nothing has gone particularly right. I think my body is still sorting itself out, and I don't feel totally normal. Work has presented a few unexpected challenges. Home life is dandy, but sometimes when Ish and I both have stressful weeks, we don't exactly make the most of coming home to each other. We just kind of veg out in our own world without much ado about anything.
I've been particularly moody today. In addition to not feeling "right" (physically or emotionally), my sister's wedding is in about a week, and I'm totally under-prepared for it. I have no doubt it will all go well, but I feel very un-useful and lame. Especially since I haven't finished unpacking my suitcase from when I went to Tahoe. IN JULY.
All of this is to say, mope mope mope blah blah blah, I drove home to my apartment today to find a car parked in front of my building's garage entrance. And this did not make me any happier.
In fact, I came into my apartment and called the number Google told me to, and now I have some Meter-Person (is "MeterMaid" un-PC?) coming to ticket or call in or whatever it is they do to cars that are illegally parked. Note: I'm supposed to be down there waiting for the Meter-WhosieWhatsit. I am instead writing this.
The truth is, there was a (street) parking place available directly in front of the dumb person blocking the garage entrance. So I am technically parked next to my building. Which means that, all in all, this isn't the greatest inconvenience for me.
Or rather, it wouldn't be. But because I'm me, all the way up to my apartment I was envisioning how angry I'd be if I came down to my parked car tomorrow and found it had been broken into. And then for the next several minutes, I ran through all the worst-case scenarios in my head, until I was convinced that if I didn't get the car towed and get my car safely parked in the garage, I would go downstairs tomorrow to find a band of homeless people smoking crack in my backseat, and using my front seats for firewood.
This is how it came to be that I have to go meet the PC-Meter-Attendant downstairs right now, to follow up on my phone call.
Especially because I did not know the street numbers for the alley behind my building, I did not know the make or model of the obstructing car ("it's red, though!"), and damn it. If I'm going to go through the effort of calling someone to my apartment to move an errant car, I'm going to do it right.
* * * * * *
I have returned.
While I waited for the MeterLady to arrive, I sat in my car and read a book, appreciative of the fact that this evening, there was only one homeless person outside my building. Tonight's lone sidewalk-sitting dude was very hippy-esque and kind of well dressed, and quite possibly a college professor. He was sitting cross-legged against a wall and had a backpack. I was trying to figure out if he was a nearby resident or homeless...until he pulled out a bottle wrapped in a brown paper bag, and began sipping from it manically.
Definitely a professor.
Eventually the MeterLady did arrive. She took down some numbers and then asked me to open the garage door. I believe this was to prove that I am a resident and therefore calling with a real complaint, not just to be a bitch. (Uh, not just to be a COMPLETE bitch.)
I opened the garage door. She said I could go.
I do not know how long I am supposed to wait before seeing if the car is towed (so that I can safely-ish park my car), but here I am in my apartment again. Blogging this most uneventful story.
For the record? I didn't know this story would be so boring. I thought that I would go out and the MeterMaid would be some hot MeterDude and then I'd have an unfortunate flirting accident or something. I would be humiliated, and then I'd have a great story to tell you.
Instead, I give you:
PICTURE OF CAR HALF PARKED IN FRONT OF MY BUILDING'S GARAGE. NOTE THAT IT IS "RED." NOTE ALSO THAT THE FACT THAT THIS PHOTO IS TAKEN FROM INSIDE THE GARAGE MAKES IT 0.002% MORE INTERESTING.
If I were to try and make a real, actual point, I might say that WOW. I am climbing the San Francisco Rites of Passage ladder with alarming speed. Because Rookies? They have their cars towed (I had my car towed twice in the first four months I lived here). But the Experts? They have others' cars towed.
And then they blog about it.