The parking lottery
A tip for those who dare to drive in the Old City. If you find a parking spot when you want it, there is a reason why you don’t.
This afternoon, we took a risk. The variety that can cause palpable fear; we parked near where we wanted to go. Excuses, excuses; it was windy, we were hurried. I can think of others. Real-time parallel parking, where you drive in and then spend time trying to approach the curb, because the traffic wouldn’t allow a real “line it up and park just like in driver ed” motion. We locked the doors and I deposited a first coin. BRIS isn’t a valid response to my quarter (thankfully, I didn’t find the loonie I wanted).
The municipal bylaw is quite clear. You must abandon any further attempt to leave your car there. Either beg for your coinage during office hours or suck it up. But, until further notice (and there will be no notice), this particular place is unavailable.
Sunday, on a sunny day. Not a chance we’re going back into circling. Leave and do what must be done. If the agent finds (and fines) you, it’s part of the game. We shopped. Timepieces. Ground coffee (and again, I found a clerk completely bewildered by the metric system). I could have enjoyed a tour of the magazine shop, but there’s gambling and there’s innate stupidity.
We were winners in the parking lottery. For only 25 cents, close to an hour on a very busy street on a touristy afternoon. Next time, who knows? Almost akin to playing a slot machine, without the lemons.
