You can’t be serious . . . . whoops, guess you can


This evening, we took a friend to Ink for birthday and end-of-the-bar drinks. Having recruited a designated driver, we enjoyed a comfortable, air-conditioned ride to this mid-town eatery, with its great drinks and perfectly grilled cheese. Street parking was scarce (I miss that parking lot, Paragary’s empire! And from where come your herbs now, you garden destroying bastards! I keed I keed. And I digress).

Upon arrival however, we endured perhaps the most absurd parking experience ever.

There was one parking attendant guarding the tiny lot behind Ink. And when I say tiny, I mean, the lot is about 6 cars deep and maybe 4 rows wide. And there were plenty of spots. The sign said $3 and figured, eh, fine whatever. And yeah, being that we pulled in next several open spots which would’ve required but a quick flick of the wheel to get into, we felt a bit lame valet-ing the car. Still, fine, whatever.

Until the kid who came over and politely opened our doors said the following:

“Actually, it’s pretty quiet tonight, so they’re going to let me go home early – so if you wouldn’t mind waiting, I’ll just give you back your keys.”


So we stood there, he parked the car, walked the four steps back to us, and handed us our keys.


2 Comments so far

  1. Aaron (unregistered) on July 31st, 2006 @ 10:13 pm

    Shoulda given you guys half off or somethin’.

  2. cd (unregistered) on July 31st, 2006 @ 10:25 pm

    Should’ve been free!

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