Sunshine??
Yeah, right ...
It's been raining for days ...
Okay, just two days, but it feels like forever ...
Save us!!
That being a senseless plea, I did try to save something yesterday: a few bucks. We'd gotten a parking ticket over the weekend, as we'd forgotten to affix the new "resident parking" sticker to Mr. Betty's windshield. Resident parking restrictions begin in May. And, yes, we have a driveway — a tremendous and luxurious advantage in downtown Newport — but had vacated it to make room for Super Son's non-resident buddies who were visiting. I'll spare you the details ... except to say that I/we considered it an innocent mistake (how oxymoronic), so I walked down to City Hall with that embarrassingly-flourescent-green ticket to attempt being pardoned for the transgression. Along the way, I noted all the serious work involving windows and old/new paint going on at the Colony House. Impressive (!!) if totally irrelevant to the issue at hand, being the ticket in my hand ...
When I got to City Hall, the clerk said she handled only payments; I'd have to go to the Police Station and talk to Mr. So-and-So. So I did — I ran down that bizarrely-long flight of gray stone steps, across Broadway, up-the-road a block or two — all the while feeling my blood pressure rising, just a little, as there's just something about visiting the Police Station, and I was starting to question if it was worth the effort. Before I'd said one word at the window marked "tickets" in the lobby, Mr. So-and-So launched into me. He knew why I was there — thanks to the tell-tale ticket in my hand — but didn't give one hoot about my story. I listened (what else could I do?). Then he listened (for about ten seconds) and said I could come back on Thursday, when his computer would be up-and-running and he'd look into it, though — really — it was our fault, our problem (not that it's a big one). He left no doubt in my mind about that ...
So I left to walk home ... feeling crummy, as I'd failed (!!) and it was still raining. I also hate being scolded. But somewhere along the block near Pour Judgment and assorted other bars and tattoo parlors, just before Empire Tea, a guy walked past me — looking down, under my flourescent-yellow hood — and said, "Hello, Sunshine."
Then I felt better ... sort of.
