A Surreal Moment From Metroland
Yesterday I was speaking with a colleague at work when she interrupted the conversation:
"I'm sorry," she said "I have to go move my car."
To which I wittily replied: "Huh?"
"I'm in a two-hour zone, so I have to go move my car."
O Avid Fan, weep for us. The city of Hometown contains fewer than fifty thousand residents. There's ample, nay, abundant street parking within two short blocks of the building. To put the formaldehyde-soaked maraschino cherry on this sundae of surrealism, the lot directly behind the building next door, once a thriving grocery store complete with parking lot, is vacant and daily full of cars belonging to those who work in the area.
Why in the name of the FSM would you park in a two hour zone and have to rush out three times during your working day? I asked her if it was for the exercise.
"No," quoth she. "If I arrive early I always park on X St, that way I don't have to walk so far."
"Saves wear and tear on the wooden leg, eh?" I asked with only a slight trace of snark.