Prologue:
"Wow, this apartment is awesome. Look at the SIZE of it. Does it come with two off-street parking spaces?"
"No, sorry. Only one."
"Hm...That's tough. We've got two cars. I love the place, but this could be a deal-breaker."
"Well, we rent garage space on Pierson, about a hundred feet away, for fifty dollars a month."
"A whole garage? All to myself? For fifty bucks a month? Well, let's go see it!"
We go see it.
"Holy crap, this garage is a CAVE! You could play tennis in here! Fifty a month, you say? We'll take it!"
Act 1:
Roommate comes home, looking annoyed.
"There's some beat-up Toyota Tercel parked in front of the garage."
"What, the whole six-bay garage??"
"No. Only our garage."
That's odd. That's a really awful place to park. The alley looks like the Super-Slide at Funtown USA, and the apron is on such a steep tilt that the only thing responsible for the condition of the porch across the street is the brake calipers of the car. I parked there once and spent the next half-hour terrified that I'd be fishing my car out of the river.
So he's made a poor parking decision on several counts: 1) under a no parking sign, b) on really unstable ground, xvii) in front of a garage, &) in a car whose driver seems to have mistaken duct-tape for Bondo.
Roommate's reporting of the incident resulted in the appearance of a "No Parking" sign on the garage.
Act 2: Gezundheit
The car is parked in front of our garage again, this time when I get home from work. And only our garage. Clearly the person using this non-space is accustomed to having what he laughingly believes is the privilege, and must be carefully disabused. I park on the street and go into the apartment.
Me: "We need to figure out how to call foul on that car parked on the apron in front of the garage."
Roommate: "Drive our enemies before us and hear the lamentation of the women!"
Me: "Well...no, that's not quite what I..."
Roommate: "Salt the earth so that nothing shall grow where their blood was spilt!"
Me: "We did just move into the neighborhood; I don't want to start a feud with a neighbor--"
Roommate: "Burn their villages and enslave their children unto the seventh generation!"
Me: "...I'll call the building super in the morning and see if there's a by-the-book procedure for asserting one's parking privilege."
Footnote: Roommate Red's got a temper.
Act 3: Manchester United, 4
So the next day I went to 39 Hill to talk to the managers about how they handle pirate parking. Clearly this is a problem that they've dealt with before; I indicated that given that I didn't want the garage or my car damaged by a vengeful spirit who already made it clear that he didn't believe in the Man's rules and customs, I was looking for a hands-free way of managing the issue.
At press time, management has issued the magic spell "Accio Tow Truck," a phone number that will make the problem go away anonymously, sparing me a feud with the neighbors. Mr. Tickets and his rebel Tercel will foot the bill, as is right and proper.
We'll see what happens tonight.
FIN
"Wow, this apartment is awesome. Look at the SIZE of it. Does it come with two off-street parking spaces?"
"No, sorry. Only one."
"Hm...That's tough. We've got two cars. I love the place, but this could be a deal-breaker."
"Well, we rent garage space on Pierson, about a hundred feet away, for fifty dollars a month."
"A whole garage? All to myself? For fifty bucks a month? Well, let's go see it!"
We go see it.
"Holy crap, this garage is a CAVE! You could play tennis in here! Fifty a month, you say? We'll take it!"
Act 1:
Roommate comes home, looking annoyed.
"There's some beat-up Toyota Tercel parked in front of the garage."
"What, the whole six-bay garage??"
"No. Only our garage."
That's odd. That's a really awful place to park. The alley looks like the Super-Slide at Funtown USA, and the apron is on such a steep tilt that the only thing responsible for the condition of the porch across the street is the brake calipers of the car. I parked there once and spent the next half-hour terrified that I'd be fishing my car out of the river.
So he's made a poor parking decision on several counts: 1) under a no parking sign, b) on really unstable ground, xvii) in front of a garage, &) in a car whose driver seems to have mistaken duct-tape for Bondo.
Roommate's reporting of the incident resulted in the appearance of a "No Parking" sign on the garage.
Act 2: Gezundheit
The car is parked in front of our garage again, this time when I get home from work. And only our garage. Clearly the person using this non-space is accustomed to having what he laughingly believes is the privilege, and must be carefully disabused. I park on the street and go into the apartment.
Me: "We need to figure out how to call foul on that car parked on the apron in front of the garage."
Roommate: "Drive our enemies before us and hear the lamentation of the women!"
Me: "Well...no, that's not quite what I..."
Roommate: "Salt the earth so that nothing shall grow where their blood was spilt!"
Me: "We did just move into the neighborhood; I don't want to start a feud with a neighbor--"
Roommate: "Burn their villages and enslave their children unto the seventh generation!"
Me: "...I'll call the building super in the morning and see if there's a by-the-book procedure for asserting one's parking privilege."
Footnote: Roommate Red's got a temper.
Act 3: Manchester United, 4
So the next day I went to 39 Hill to talk to the managers about how they handle pirate parking. Clearly this is a problem that they've dealt with before; I indicated that given that I didn't want the garage or my car damaged by a vengeful spirit who already made it clear that he didn't believe in the Man's rules and customs, I was looking for a hands-free way of managing the issue.
At press time, management has issued the magic spell "Accio Tow Truck," a phone number that will make the problem go away anonymously, sparing me a feud with the neighbors. Mr. Tickets and his rebel Tercel will foot the bill, as is right and proper.
We'll see what happens tonight.
FIN
Comment