Fuck you, winter. I win this year.
Every winter (except last winter because there was no winter in MN last year) my car has been towed at least once for snow emergency. For those of you that live in warmer climates, here’s a brief breakdown on snow emergency.
Frozen water falls from the sky up here in the tundra. People forget how to drive, conservatives point to the skies and shout that it’s proof that global warming doesn’t exist and the streets need to get plowed. If more than three inches hit the ground, a snow emergency is declared and for three days you can’t park your car on certain streets while the plows try to get rid of it. If you park on the particular side of the particular street that’s to be plowed that day, your car gets towed to the impound lot.
I’ve had my car towed many a time due to my forgetful nature and I can say that everybody involved with the towing process is pure evil. I hate to make any broad generalizations but every single parking enforcement officer, tow truck driver and impound lot employee is a black hearted, souless, sadistic motherfucker. They’re the kind of people who will never experience joy so they try to steal joy from others. They do nothing to make the world a better place. I hate them and so does everybody.
There was a snow emergency Tuesday, most likely the last one of the year. more than 1300 cars were towed but mine was not one of them. It took 30 years but I’m now finally learning proper parking rules like a proper adult. I feel bad for those 1300 people this week, though. I’ve been in their shoes plenty of times. The last time I had to go to the impound lot for snow emergency is burned into my memory very clearly.
The last time my car got plowed was a couple of years ago. It happened two days before payday and since my assets were all tied up (re: nonexistent), I had to swallow my pride and ask my dad for a quick loan to get my car out of the lot. He accompanied me to the Minneapolis impound lot which is conveniently located on the corner of Murdertheft and Rape. We stood in line outside for an hour while four people behind bulletproof glass glared at us like we were fucking up their plans even though their sole job description was to collect ransom money for cars. My dad looked at the sad, slow moving line of people all waiting to pay the city $180 to get their own property back and was confused and horrified at how the city was treating us.
My dad lives in the suburbs. Nobody parks on the streets in the suburbs and if they do, the snowplows go around the cars, shovel them out, brush them off and leave a mint pinned under the windshield wiper.
Looking around and getting visibly and audibly flustered, my dad finally says out loud “this is how they treat you?” I shrugged, said something like “city living” and then handed an angry woman a bunch of money. She told me that while I can get my car back now, I’ll still have to pay for the parking ticket within two weeks because they haven’t squeezed enough out of me yet. She then snorted a line of meth right in front of us, picked up a kitten and snapped it’s little neck with one hand while rubbing her nipple with the other.
I’m so glad I didn’t have to deal with any of that bullshit this year. I hear they started piping Yanni’s “Rainmaker” in the loudspeakers on a loop in the impound lot during snow emergencies.
Snow Emergency.
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