Adventures in parking (03/05/08)

Think of it as "an adventure in parking." That's what I keep telling myself.

It was mid-day on Saturday. The sun was shining. The snow was melting, and all was right with the world.

Except on the campus of Ball State University.

We'd gone to Muncie to combine a couple of errands. Connie wanted to attend a job fair; she's finishing up her thesis and will be re-entering the employment market after she receives her master's degree in natural resources and environmental management in May. As for me, I had some shopping to do at Jack's Camera downtown.

The plan was simple: I'd drop her at the Arts and Journalism Building, zip down to Jack's, come back to campus, call her on her cell phone, then pick her up.

Piece of cake, right.

The first few steps went smoothly. I pulled into a bus stop and let her out at the right building, and we discussed options for two different lots with parking meters. Then I headed down to the camera store.

Not long after that, with my wallet significantly lighter and a package in the back seat, I headed back to campus.

Meanwhile, things had started to go awry almost as soon as Connie got out of the car.

Turns out, the job fair wasn't in the Arts and Journalism Building. That facility was crowded with people dropping off arts portfolios and kids on hand for a science fair. It took some searching on her part before she found out that the job fair was about a block away in an entirely different building.

Blissfully unaware of the change in circumstances, I headed back to campus. My sense of time had gotten away from me; I was thinking more about the new camera in the back seat than about the clock.

And when I pulled into the metered parking lot, I knew I was in trouble. Cars were everywhere. Not only were all but the handicapped parking spots filled, there were cars and vans in the fire lanes.

Where, I wondered, were the Ball State traffic cops who so effectively give me a parking ticket for the slightest infraction. I made a loop around the lot. Nothing. I ventured up a dead-end alley. Still nothing.

So I called my wife on her cell phone.

And got nothing.

I left a message, saying that I was going to try another lot.

There, near the Printing Services building, I found a spot. Four quarters bought me 45 minutes. Not much of a bargain, I thought. Maybe it was "parking meters redefined" to use the latest BSU buzzword.

I called again. Still no answer. So I left another voice mail.

At that point, I remembered Connie turning off her phone the night before, prior to the Tommy Sands concert at Arts Place. Had she forgotten to turn it back on?

For awhile, I contented myself reading the camera's owner's manual. But soon that had me hopelessly confused.

With about 20 minutes left and only one more quarter in my pocket, I left a third voice mail and began to wonder why we had not developed a Plan B.

That's about the time my phone rang. Connie's phone had been on, but it had been tucked in her purse and the job fair had been so noisy she hadn't heard it.

We agreed to meet where I had dropped her off, but because the job fair was in a different building, I got to the spot first.

It was then that I noticed a sign warning people not to park and drop people off in the bus stop.

And as I saw my wife making her way across the campus to my illegally parked car, I saw the silhouette of a police car in my rear view mirror.

"Get in," I urged her, feeling a bit like Clyde Barrow picking up Bonnie after a bank heist, "let's get out of here before I get a ticket."

And we pulled out into traffic, our crime spree behind us.[[In-content Ad]]