I had driven to town to go to the bank, and upon finding there were no spare parks in Sturt Street on a Saturday morning (who would have thought??), I decided to park in a Loading Zone. Fair enough, I hear you say. I'm a good person, I pay my taxes, I slow down in school zones, I flash my lights when I see a speed camera - surely I should be able to illegally park in a Loading Zone on a busy Saturday morning!? Well it turns out that I can't. I went to the bank, then I saw a couple of shops that looked interesting, then I bumped into a friend I hadn't seen for a while... Anyway, half an hour later I went back to the car loaded up with new purchases and there he was - a middle aged man in a grey uniform writing out a parking ticket.
'Well bless my cotton socks', I thought (this is a lie). 'I'd better ask that kindly gentleman to have mercy on me and stop writing that ticket so I can rush home and attend to my sickly mother' (another lie). So I approached the parking officer and explained that basically I'm a tad retarded and didn't realise the terrible thing I'd done. I smiled. I flitted my eyelashes. I destroyed every ounce of feminist integrity I ever had. He hummed and sighed a bit but then told me that I could go this time. WHAT A GREAT MAN. I sped off rather quickly and might have even left tyre marks in the parking bay..
Anyway, Mr Parking Man, you're my hero. And I promise I'II never ever park in a Loading Zone again. Unless I can't find a park anywhere else...