Yesterday I ventured into strange territory: the other side of the hill. I had an appointment with a client in Santa Monica before I was scheduled to meet Mystic Diva at
LACMA for an afternoon of cultural delight, followed by dinner at
Campanile for a little grilled cheese delight. Getting there from Santa Monica turned out to take longer than I had anticipated; I don't know if it was holiday traffic or if everybody just decided simultaneously to drive really, really slow, but it took so long to maneuver through the throngs of snail-paced cars that I inevitably arrived late.
In a mad rush to find my friend who had been waiting nearly an hour for me, I grabbed a spot on Wilshire, loaded up the meter, and ran towards the museum. Mystic told me I could park in the lot for $7, but I thought "screw that, I got a spot for $2". She was calm as ever, not the least bit perturbed (as I imagine I would be), and we went on our merry way.
The museum was not my favorite. It felt stiff, rigid, and contrived. I much prefer The Getty or The Met. After almost two hours of Indonesian tapestries, Fabiola, and Masculinity & Sport, we'd had enough. We had an hour to spare before our dinner reservations and decided Starbucks was a good place to spend it. I volunteered to drive.
Only when we went to get my car, it was gone. It was the last in a long block of cars that were all gone too. Mystic kept asking, "Are you sure you parked on Wilshire?" I was sure. I stopped to read the sign that stated "Anti-Gridlock Zone: No Stopping After 4 pm". Ooops.
A few phone calls later, we found that my car was miles across town, would cost $239 to get out, and that we had to get it before dinner, otherwise it would have to wait until the morning and cost an additional $39. With 45 minutes until our dinner reservation, Mystic and I jumped in her Honda and tore ass across LA.
It was a quick and easy process of getting my car back - I.D., Gold Card, and a couple signatures. Much to my surprise though, the fun didn't end there - there was a parking ticket for $145 stuck under my windshield wiper! My trip to that stinkin' museum had cost me $384 - and to think, I could have paid $7 and called it a day.
While happily munching on my grilled cheese at Campanile, I vowed to myself to pay for parking from now on. Thank you, City of Los Angeles. Consider this a lesson learned.
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