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So, I went to the A3 show at Du Nord. Great venue, great band, great show, yada yada. So I'm heading out, looking for my car, and looking, and looking. You guessed it - towed. I'm looking around where I think I parked, baffled how it could have been towed, seeing as I got out of the car and made sure I wasn't blocking the hydrant or a ramp or whatever. Then I saw my folly - perhaps instead of focusing on the hydrant I should have made sure I wasn't parked in RED ZONE in front of the FIRE DEPARTMENT (village idiot moment #1).
But wait, there's more. I start calling all the relevant phone numbers ("yes we do have your car", "no we don't have your car", "please try this other number" etc.). Forty-five minutes later I am still nowhere, so back into Du Nord I go, hoping that one of two guys that sortof live in my neck of the woods are still there - no dice. So I call one of them (the one who seemed less drunk) (that would be Dredge) to ask where he was. Thankfully not too far away to rescue a comrade. Very nice, with the bonus that sober teenage daughter is driving, rather than beloved drunken Dredge (thanks Zanne for rescuing me) (and how many beers does it take to get Dredge hammered anyway - at least 8, I'm guessing). Ok, that part was boring, but there's more...
So the next 30 minutes I am in the back of the car while Dredge tries to remember where the impound yard is (fortunately he is an SF towing frequent flyer, so no problem there). Meanwhile, I am still calling the various phone numbers to make sure my car was towed, not stolen. Along the way, called my wife, explained why I would be coming home rather late. Some how I allowed the conversation to drift to the topic of attending late shows in SF generally (village idiot moment #2). She explained that as I had 3 tiny babies (tiny to medium really, but why quibble) at home waiting for me, she didn't like the idea of me wandering around alone some empty parking lot at o dark thirty looking for my car. After that awkward 1-2 minutes of silence where the man is responding marvelously in his head, thinking he is speaking aloud, my wife interrupted. "Well, aren't you going to respond?" Undaunted, I explained "for the record, I was not parked in some deserted lot, but on a well lit street not 100 yards from the venue." Oops, thats VIM #3 for those of you counting. "Did it occur to you that maybe there was a reason that great "parking spot" was empty?" Good point.
About the time Dredge is pulling up to the impound yard, I've cornered the right person and confirmed it has been towed, and that I can pick it up, as long as I bring my drivers license and a credit card with ample room. So I follow the helpful red arrows to the front door, go in and, even though there is not another soul in site, I take a number from the machine - #273 (looks like the shop had a big day, and yes this qualifies for village idiot moment #4). I find the window where someone is actually working, wait for the women to get off the phone with her boyfriend (I'm sure it was important). So out comes the credit card, and almost $300 later she hands me my receipt and a ticket, sending me out into the lot to get my car. The door doesn't dump me directly into the lot, instead I am behind a tall metal fence, where I follow more red arrows until I reach the end a gate to the actual yard.
Finally, I am greeted by the yardman. He didn't have a name tag, so I'll just call him 'Torgo'. Torgo was an interesting chap. Wore a yellow raincoat and black driving gloves. Think Curious George and his fireman friend. I handed him the paperwork and confirmed it was my car by pushing the key fob. Torgo spoke softly, almost as if a mute button had been flipped, explaining that according to the rules he is supposed to take my keys and drive my car the 75 or so feet from the end of the row of to where I stood at the gate. Torgo's "boss" had told him that so he was sure of it, but then again, he continued "some people that work here" will just walk the person to their car and let them drive out. Torgo is confused. At this point Torgo and I have apparently built up some rapport such that he feels comfortable sharing on a more personal level. Looking down, Torgo tells me that "Uh, um, I recently soiled myself, so um I would understand if a person didn't want me driving their car" Apart from hoping, for Torgo's sake, that 'recently' meant during the current work shift, I was obviously surprised and concerned by Torgo's 'sharing'. Being the sensative type (I'm guessing), he said that he was afraid he couldn't break the "rules" and walk me to my car, but apologized for the inconvenience, and added that his shift would be over 'soon' so if I wanted I could just wait for the next guy.
While Torgo fiddled with his phone, checking the time I presume, I quickly considered my options. "Great. You can walk me to my car, or I'll just wait for the next guy, that is fine. Thanks." Torgo decided that I should wait - I gathered this from that fact that he just stood there fiddling the phone and staring at his shoes. So I waited. What seemed like twenty minutes later (probably only 2 minutes really), Torgo capitulated, "oh uh uh I guess I'll walk you to your car. Sorry for your wait." So he opened the gate for me and walked straight to my car. As I am putting the keys in the ignition, Torgo offered a parting gift, in his quiet self doubting way, "oh look, a little ticket for you", handing me a $75 red zone parking ticket.
But wait, there's more. I start calling all the relevant phone numbers ("yes we do have your car", "no we don't have your car", "please try this other number" etc.). Forty-five minutes later I am still nowhere, so back into Du Nord I go, hoping that one of two guys that sortof live in my neck of the woods are still there - no dice. So I call one of them (the one who seemed less drunk) (that would be Dredge) to ask where he was. Thankfully not too far away to rescue a comrade. Very nice, with the bonus that sober teenage daughter is driving, rather than beloved drunken Dredge (thanks Zanne for rescuing me) (and how many beers does it take to get Dredge hammered anyway - at least 8, I'm guessing). Ok, that part was boring, but there's more...
So the next 30 minutes I am in the back of the car while Dredge tries to remember where the impound yard is (fortunately he is an SF towing frequent flyer, so no problem there). Meanwhile, I am still calling the various phone numbers to make sure my car was towed, not stolen. Along the way, called my wife, explained why I would be coming home rather late. Some how I allowed the conversation to drift to the topic of attending late shows in SF generally (village idiot moment #2). She explained that as I had 3 tiny babies (tiny to medium really, but why quibble) at home waiting for me, she didn't like the idea of me wandering around alone some empty parking lot at o dark thirty looking for my car. After that awkward 1-2 minutes of silence where the man is responding marvelously in his head, thinking he is speaking aloud, my wife interrupted. "Well, aren't you going to respond?" Undaunted, I explained "for the record, I was not parked in some deserted lot, but on a well lit street not 100 yards from the venue." Oops, thats VIM #3 for those of you counting. "Did it occur to you that maybe there was a reason that great "parking spot" was empty?" Good point.
About the time Dredge is pulling up to the impound yard, I've cornered the right person and confirmed it has been towed, and that I can pick it up, as long as I bring my drivers license and a credit card with ample room. So I follow the helpful red arrows to the front door, go in and, even though there is not another soul in site, I take a number from the machine - #273 (looks like the shop had a big day, and yes this qualifies for village idiot moment #4). I find the window where someone is actually working, wait for the women to get off the phone with her boyfriend (I'm sure it was important). So out comes the credit card, and almost $300 later she hands me my receipt and a ticket, sending me out into the lot to get my car. The door doesn't dump me directly into the lot, instead I am behind a tall metal fence, where I follow more red arrows until I reach the end a gate to the actual yard.
Finally, I am greeted by the yardman. He didn't have a name tag, so I'll just call him 'Torgo'. Torgo was an interesting chap. Wore a yellow raincoat and black driving gloves. Think Curious George and his fireman friend. I handed him the paperwork and confirmed it was my car by pushing the key fob. Torgo spoke softly, almost as if a mute button had been flipped, explaining that according to the rules he is supposed to take my keys and drive my car the 75 or so feet from the end of the row of to where I stood at the gate. Torgo's "boss" had told him that so he was sure of it, but then again, he continued "some people that work here" will just walk the person to their car and let them drive out. Torgo is confused. At this point Torgo and I have apparently built up some rapport such that he feels comfortable sharing on a more personal level. Looking down, Torgo tells me that "Uh, um, I recently soiled myself, so um I would understand if a person didn't want me driving their car" Apart from hoping, for Torgo's sake, that 'recently' meant during the current work shift, I was obviously surprised and concerned by Torgo's 'sharing'. Being the sensative type (I'm guessing), he said that he was afraid he couldn't break the "rules" and walk me to my car, but apologized for the inconvenience, and added that his shift would be over 'soon' so if I wanted I could just wait for the next guy.
While Torgo fiddled with his phone, checking the time I presume, I quickly considered my options. "Great. You can walk me to my car, or I'll just wait for the next guy, that is fine. Thanks." Torgo decided that I should wait - I gathered this from that fact that he just stood there fiddling the phone and staring at his shoes. So I waited. What seemed like twenty minutes later (probably only 2 minutes really), Torgo capitulated, "oh uh uh I guess I'll walk you to your car. Sorry for your wait." So he opened the gate for me and walked straight to my car. As I am putting the keys in the ignition, Torgo offered a parting gift, in his quiet self doubting way, "oh look, a little ticket for you", handing me a $75 red zone parking ticket.