I once told myself that parking permits were a waste of money because I mistakenly thought I was faster and sneakier than the UTSA parking meter minions. And I was, for about two semesters. Stop me if this sounds familiar. You’re driving onto campus (with no permit of course), and you spot one of those blue-shirted demons in a parking lot, and you think, “Oo, I bet I can find a lot they’ve already hit and be good for at least one hour.”
Yeah, I was moderately successful with that, but apparently parking and transportation services held a séance and summoned up more blue shirt demons to roam the lots more often. But because I’m stupid, I kept trying to circumvent the system. Three dances later I learned my lesson.
Don’t judge; you know the dance too. Everybody’s seen it-the “Oh shit, I have a boot on my car” dance.
Well, it’s really more of a waltz because of the coy way people try to walk around their vehicles and at the same time try not to be associated with their vehicles. They’re easy to spot, off at a distance, on the phone and really pissed. I really love that dance.
Don’t even get me started on the “scarlet parking sticker” on the window when you do get a boot. Once you do get the boot off your car, you can’t drive until that monstrosity of a sticker has been removed from your passenger window. It feels like it takes a lifetime to remove. I swear the whole system is designed to bring about as much torment as possible.
Just because I’ve learned my lesson doesn’t mean I didn’t get even. I eventually found a way to offset the cost of all my parking violations, but I’ll never tell how (at least until I graduate). In the meantime, I’ve got to plan the safest route to work that involves the least possibility of being seen with expired tags by the cops.
Oh, and don’t think that they can’t see those little tags as they pass you, because they can. Cop doughnuts contain sight enhancing sprinkles.