At some point during the past week of my living in my new apartment, I have become the sort of person who deems it acceptable to roll out of bed and walk down the streets of the city without even bothering to put on a bra.
I understand that this has become something of the style now, but the well endowed can appreciate it’s not one we should embrace… maybe I just haven’t found the right shirt. However I’m fairly certain that shirt will never be a plain cotton t-shirt, and the final look will never be completed with rumpled running shorts, flip-flops (or sneakers without socks depending on the weather), puffy raccoon eyes, and cavewoman hair.
It has taken all of a week for me to give up all cares regarding public image and there is but one thing to blame for this misfortunate turn of events: Street parking.
“Don’t be that person! All it takes is a minute! Just put on a pair of pants!” Cries the voice inside my head as I reach for a loose fitting sweatshirt and some running shorts. That’s as good as 17th Avenue is going to get from me during my morning meter feeding. I’m really setting myself up to make friends here.
Each morning as I lock my door behind me, I’m really counting on a good majority of the neighborhood population to be asleep before 8am.
Now I know what you’re thinking. “Come on, what are the odds that the meter guy (or gal) will be up and patrolling at precisely 8AM?” Trust me, the risk does not outweigh the reward. After having already received two tickets in the month that I’ve lived here, I’m too scared to push my luck any further… That is, if you can call two tickets in a month “luck.”
Literally a block away from zoned parking and unable to apply for a residential pass, and surrounded by lots that won’t let you park in them Monday- Friday from 7-5, street parking has very quickly become the bane of my existence in this city. I fully understand that I’m not even suffering at the hands of some ungodly hour. I realize that many people are already at work, also getting out of bed, or have finished their run by 8am. But it’s the principle of the matter.
I will be all too thankful come July, when a space in our buildings parking garage opens up and I will no longer have to trudge down five flights of stairs to spend 8 dollars for 4 extra hours of peace. But for now, I will continue to embrace the lifestyle of the man who walks out the door to get his paper in nothing but a robe and slippers.