I Want Change !

Some would call it   *** "cutting off your nose to spite your face". Perhaps that's the case. I did act out of anger and a degree of frustration. I'm a Scorpio after all, and I have a short fuse when, in my perception, I've been wronged. What 's happened you ask?  Well,  I have decided never to set foot downtown again, and not only have I let some of the businesses, the chamber of commerce, and the by-law enforcement office know, but I'm planning to write a letter to the newspaper. After all, why go only half way?
           
                     (Note to self - Look into changing name after all this. Good thing I have options...three                         other seasons and a spouse's name.)

Without going into great detail, here are the facts as I see them.

Ok, so maybe I was two minutes late for a parking meter, into which I had inserted $1.10 for 70ish minutes. However, there are several extenuating circumstances. For one thing, I'm asthmatic, have been housebound, and despite my excitement at getting out, was moving slowly. Secondly, I was having coffee with a friend. It has to cool off before drinking after all. Idle chatter will produce this desired result. Finally, on my way out of the coffee shop, I had to pant and trudge my way across the street in multi vehicle traffic, a detour as it were, to take the following photo before returning to my car. Is it my fault the town has placed these visible distractions everywhere? Should I be punished for that?

There are those who ask, "Did you see the meter reader?"

Of course not. I wasn't looking for a meter reader. I was looking at a giant polar bear with a piano keyboard across its abdomen, a log stump in front, and a chain connecting him to a park bench. To that I say, "Abuse. Free the animals!"

I got into my car and was half way home before a saw a small receipt under my windshield wiper...a receipt no less. As if I'd already paid. Of course I had no idea what it really was until I pulled over, my interest piqued. I lifted it gingerly out of its hiding spot between the wiper and the crack that accumulates layers of ice and snow in the winter.

"What? How dare they?" I yelled at absolutely nobody. "$20.00? $20.00? For what?"

I noted the time on the ticket 11:47 a.m. It was now 11:49 and I was half way home. How was this even possible? I had put enough money in the meter to last until 11:45 I thought. When the meters were first installed, the newspaper reported the following.

"Those who put $1 into the meter will receive 60 minutes plus an additional 15 minutes at the end of their paid time."  Northumberland News Feb. 6, 2015

Nope. Didn't happen. I was now expected to pay $21.10 for an hour and ten minutes of parking. At least I should get back my original meter donation don't you think? Besides, what about all the times I overpaid and left large amounts of time on the meter? Do I get change? Do I get credit?

The way I see it is that the meter reader was at the infamous meter #59 a minute or two before the time ended and rubbed his/her hands together in glee. The receipt maker was programmed and ready to print. With one fell swoop, his/her hourly wage would be covered and the town would have a profit of six or seven dollars.  

I won't go into detail about my tirade after I returned to the town hall over this outrage. However, I did threaten to come back and picket the building with a huge sign. I told them I'd have to sit outside with a hat and beg for pennies because I am a senior on pension. I wheezed as I spoke and flailed my arms around, needlessly elevating my blood pressure. My performance was oscar worthy. All the while, the clerk nodded. I could see his wheels turning..."another crazy old lady."  

I have since thought it over. As I understood it, the original town plan for the meters was to recoup funds so that the park and beach could be cleaned up after "tourists" came and made a mess. Why then, are citizens of the town, who already pay exorbitant taxes being punished? I parked at a meter because the closest free lot was full and I couldn't walk and breathe at the same time. It was a weekday morning. I paid. Why do we even have functional meters on weekdays?  They aren't anything special like these beauties either...just the old, gray, manual, corroding kind.        

Shouldn't the meters be reserved for weekends when visitors park everywhere and sully our pristine park, sand, and water? Besides, why is this town so technologically challenged that they don't have the phone app to view and add time to a meter?

It's been a summer of air quality captivity for me. I think I've had too much time on my hands. Besides that, I think I'm becoming agoraphobic, but that's a topic for another blog. 

 So? What do you think? Once I'm done my letter writing campaign, should I run for town council? I just might...after I change my name that is.         

______________________________________________________________________________
 ***"Cutting off the nose to spite the face" is an expression used to describe a needlessly self-destructive over-reaction to a problem: "Don't cut off your nose to spite your face" is a warning against acting out of pique, or against pursuing revenge in a way that would damage oneself more than the object of one's anger.

Ole Ladyyyy Whooooooooo.....

Being more of a suburban type girl, I have found it an adjustment living in a small town. It's usually an eventful day if I have an excuse to go to Walmart or to the bank. Coupled with the lack of excitement is the fact that this place has the highest percentage of seniors of anywhere in Ontario. It's true. With each excursion, I've made it my mission to see if I can find someone who does not have the definitive female hair, gray and curly or male hair, gray and straight. Should I detect someone bald, of either gender, it's always a bonus.

Yesterday, I made my weekly trek downtown and I use the term "downtown" loosely. Bank day. The traffic was particularly heavy and it took me 4 minutes instead of the usual 3 to get there. I hate rush hour. I felt a sense of deja vu as it were, very "Groundhog Day". In this case, it was the repeat of any similar trip I've taken over the past 2 years. I sought parallel parking on King Street. Murphy's law was at work. There were parking spots on the opposite side of the road but not in the direction I was driving. I proceeded to the next intersection, turned around and by the time I got back 30 seconds later, the spots I had seen were not only gone, but there were now spaces on the original side. I gave up and abandoned the van in a makeshift bumpy gravel lot, aka potential condo site across from city hall.

After walking into my financial institution I took my place in line. Woohoo, third! I soon learned, third assured me of nothing. I stood. I waited. I shuffled from one leg to the other. I stretched. I looked around dreamily. I stared in the overhead "robber identification monitor"wondering where the camera was hidden. All the while I was turning, squatting, waving, stretching and making faces to entertain myself. Everyone was oblivious, which, now that I think of it was probably a good thing. I had an idea. I yawned loudly. This did nothing to rouse the employees or speed up the process. In true small town fashion, pardon the cliche, someone was sharing the latest gossip with teller Leanne. Another person showed 100 of the newest photos of her grandkids to teller Leona and a third customer was sharing accounts of his recent surgery with teller Lynne. Curious. Is an "L" name perhaps compulsory for a job at this bank?

Ten minutes later, there had been no movement. I studied the two people in front of me. For some reason they were unperturbed by the fact that they had made no forward progress. I noted that for the 5th time this month, I saw someone (a woman, lest there be any doubt) with the same style purse as mine. Was it actually possible that I crossed paths with the same woman five times? Or could it be that I saw five different women with the same purse? Could my thoughts get any more fascinating? As I yawned yet again, for real this time, no longer all that happy to be customer #3 in the line, I took a notebook out of aforementioned "Stepford" purse and wrote a message to myself. "Ditch the brocade bag."

Notebook still in hand, I took advantage of the time to jot down some potential story ideas. At the very least I thought I might develop characters by describing the appearance and characteristics of people I'd observed that day...hooded quilted winter jackets, black gloves, elasticized waist pants in a wash and wear fabric, loose fitting shirts, white socks, sensible shoes. Yikes!

It was at that moment that I realized it. My description sounded all too familiar. I was turning into one of THEM.