Last night, as I parallel parked my car on West 6th Street, between Hut’s Hamburgers and Whole Foods, a tall, older man dressed in black waved his arms at me, implying that I should back my car up.
“A $40 ticket they’ll give you for not being in the lines,” I could hear muffled through my window.
I made sure my car was in the lines and watched as the tall, older man dressed in black cheerfully spoke to the stream of people who walked by.
“Ain’t that a nice sweater you have!” he said to one man who eyed him suspiciously.
I exited my car and walked to the parking meter that stood between the man and I.
I too was suspicious of his jovial nature, and as we made small talk while I tried to purchase a parking sticker for my car with a credit card, I wondered when we’d get to the point he’d ask me for change.
Admitting this makes me cringe, but like most major cities, parking in downtown settings often comes with its share of panhandlers. When I was little, I couldn’t understand (more…)