So I get through my morning, do an interview, get a mocha, listen to Tammie rant about the repairs they're planning at Old Soul, and even make a trip out to Office Depot to get a new notepad (buy one get one free), and also some sketch paper and charcoal pencils, just in case. So then it comes around time to head off to the Homeless Forum at Sac State. I'm in the zone, running a little late, but whatever, and I'm finding myself warming to the role of journalist. I've even got my Sac Press t-shirt on.
It's not a bad drive. No, yes it is. Because suddenly I'm back in the fuck-all chaos of a college campus road map. First I miss the entrance and wrongfully assume there will be a second entrance around the bend (since Sonoma State had three entrances, I thought that would be a normal trait. Guess not. Flipped a bitch, headed back to the entrance, and got stuck behind a red light. At this point I'm annoyed enough to turn off the radio with a dramatic twist of the volume dial. Shut the fuck up, radio.
Next I'm greeted by a sign that says "DIRECTORY" in large letters, beneath which are a jumble of thin letters in tiny font with useless arrows pointing toward two different roads at the same time. It looks like the British road system and the American road system had inbred sex and birthed a bunch of aimless scribbles. So I just stick behind the guy ahead of me and follow him to the left (passing, I notice, the Visitor Information Booth, which is off to the right like a Nascar pit-stop). Woops. Now I've got ten minutes to find parking and the whereabouts of the Redwood Room all on my own. No worries. I can do this, I think.
Parking. Parking. Parking... Hmm... None of the lots are advertising free parking. I'm lacking the residential sticker that grants me access to every lot I pass. Finally, I somehow end up on a one-lane road, and suddenly I'm going into one of the parking garages. Not my intention, but what the fuck. I go up one level and wait for a chick to leave her spot near the stairs, and I snag it. It's five 'til.
Downstairs I go. I ask a security guard how to find the Redwood Room. He tells me how to get to the student council, and it sounds like he's giving me long instructions on how to find someone who CAN tell me how to get there, instead of just telling me he doesn't know. So he sends me off down this road along the shadow of the parking structure, and as I head off away from the building toward a parking lot and what looks like a student union, I notice a sign posted nearby.
Apparently I need to buy a parking sticker. The machine, it says, is on the third floor.
I'm going to be late. Fuck it. I'd rather not get a ticket. I can't afford a ticket.
So I take the elevator with its glass wall to the third floor and hurry out onto the cement. Around the corner: a ticket machine, and it tells me to pay six bucks for a day pass or four dollars for two hours. Of course the Homeless Forum is scheduled for four hours, so neither option really suits me. I fork over the six. I take my pass, spin around, and move briskly across Level 3 for the opposite corner, all the while unsure if this was the floor I'd parked on or not. It wasn't.
Before heading down a level, a woman stops me and asks me if I know where the Redwood Room is. She's here for the same thing. Small world. A human connection. Then I tell her that I was on my way there, but I stopped to buy a parking pass. She's confused. She didn't know we needed a parking pass (the only sign I saw, seriously, was outside by the elevator shaft) and worriedly heads off to get one for herself. I tell her I'll see her inside and hurry down to put my pass on my dashboard.
Before heading down a level, a woman stops me and asks me if I know where the Redwood Room is. She's here for the same thing. Small world. A human connection. Then I tell her that I was on my way there, but I stopped to buy a parking pass. She's confused. She didn't know we needed a parking pass (the only sign I saw, seriously, was outside by the elevator shaft) and worriedly heads off to get one for herself. I tell her I'll see her inside and hurry down to put my pass on my dashboard.
So I made it to the Redwood Room. I had to ask directions from a cute local girl, and I found myself overwhelmed by Sac State's incredible food court in the student union. Also felt weird to be back on a college campus, but one noticeably cooler than mine was. Anyway, the forum started a little afterward and so I wasn't late and for that I think the day was saved.
Afterward, I get back to my car, and I've got a parking ticket.
I wish I would've taken a photo of my RIGHT REAR WHEEL, but it wasn't like I was in a position to dispute the ticket. My tire WAS on the line. Like anyone who's ever gotten a ticket, though, I was pissed.
Who the fuck were these guys to fine me forty bucks for something like this? What kind of fucking moral issue did I provoke by setting rubber on top of white painted cement? Who's fucking idea was it to impose such penalties to imaginary boundaries? A "Please Don't Park On Boundary Line" note would've been much more effective than coming by when I'm not there to defend myself ("I was running late, I am a journalism intern, I really can't miss this event...") and slapping me with a forty dollar fine. Now I'm simply enraged. I want to lash out in response, left without a chance to argue my position. Voiceless.
And don't give me that shit about disputing the ticket. I don't want to have to take time out of my day to do that--I've done it before and it took forever and I'd rather just save up my tips and not stress about it. But I am mad that there are people out there who let the job oversee their humanity. If there was one ticket I'd reserve for blatantly ignorant assholes, it would be Violation 4A.1. There are many worse things I could have done with my automobile besides dirty up a little white paint. I just think parking enforcers need to show a little more heart when it comes to the small stuff. Don't take your job so seriously. It's gonna put you in an early grave.
If I'd been some asshole with the god-awful intention to impede on my neighbor's parking space, then the fine would be warranted. I'd be too much of an asshole to pay it, too. But no. I'm just a guy who was in a hurry and didn't pull forward those extra two inches because I didn't know my tire was still on the line. Seemed like I was straight enough in my spot. Didn't think twice about it. Sorry. Fuck your parking garage.
Who the fuck were these guys to fine me forty bucks for something like this? What kind of fucking moral issue did I provoke by setting rubber on top of white painted cement? Who's fucking idea was it to impose such penalties to imaginary boundaries? A "Please Don't Park On Boundary Line" note would've been much more effective than coming by when I'm not there to defend myself ("I was running late, I am a journalism intern, I really can't miss this event...") and slapping me with a forty dollar fine. Now I'm simply enraged. I want to lash out in response, left without a chance to argue my position. Voiceless.
And don't give me that shit about disputing the ticket. I don't want to have to take time out of my day to do that--I've done it before and it took forever and I'd rather just save up my tips and not stress about it. But I am mad that there are people out there who let the job oversee their humanity. If there was one ticket I'd reserve for blatantly ignorant assholes, it would be Violation 4A.1. There are many worse things I could have done with my automobile besides dirty up a little white paint. I just think parking enforcers need to show a little more heart when it comes to the small stuff. Don't take your job so seriously. It's gonna put you in an early grave.
If I'd been some asshole with the god-awful intention to impede on my neighbor's parking space, then the fine would be warranted. I'd be too much of an asshole to pay it, too. But no. I'm just a guy who was in a hurry and didn't pull forward those extra two inches because I didn't know my tire was still on the line. Seemed like I was straight enough in my spot. Didn't think twice about it. Sorry. Fuck your parking garage.
As I left, the sloppy road signage didn't help me find my exit. Instead I found myself on a one-way maintenance road. Then I circled the entire campus before finding an exit, and then I missed my turn, and then I found my turn--but went the wrong way. Most of these errors were my own fault. You know when you get so mad, you're flustered, you stop thinking clearly. I'm surprised I made it home in one piece, but you can imagine how wonderfully safe I felt as soon as I did.
So fuck Sac State. As far as first impressions go, I hate you.
- Left to Fry
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