Nickeled and Dimed

And quartered. Literally and figuratively.

I've noticed a disturbing trend here in Los Angeles over the past several months. You might have seen the same where you live. As our favorite municipalities struggle to right themselves during these dire economic times, we are now being hit in so many secretive ways. Little increases here and there all designed to shave a few more dollars from your pocket and mine.

Take, for instance, the parking meter of 2010.

It used to be so simple to park your car on a street. You could easily time your visit into the dry cleaners or the drugstore. Drop in a few coins and be done with it.

No more.

First of all, take a close look at the street signs that annotate the local parking restrictions. It used to be that parking meter rules were in effect until 6PM. After that bewitching hour, street parking was usually free and clear of coinage.

No more.

Take a look around you. In Los Angeles, signs have been changed. In some places, the rules are now in effect until 8PM. A few areas are "meter-able" until 10PM. One section of West LA has the hopeless audacity of imposing a 24-hour clock to the meters. So, is there a meter maid driving around at 3AM to ticket you? You would think not. I am guessing that they have entrusted some poor slob to do just that. One of those "shovel ready" jobs created to boost our economy. Now the schlubs like us are getting drilled in two ways. For the privilege of parking after 6PM. And for the honor of paying through added taxes for the wages of the normally shiftless moron who can't get a job anyplace else.

Keep in mind that the number of coins you have to slip into a meter has increased as well. In a very clandestine way, areas of Los Angeles have changed the parking rates. I found this out last week when I parked for a quick run into CVS Pharmacy. Now, unless there are a bunch of old people or Third World'ers clogging the cashier line, I can usually do my business there in about ten or fifteen minutes. In the past, two dimes got me 24 minutes. Plenty of time and even some grace if there's a numbskull ahead of you trying to pay for their Tums with pennies. But, the other day, I popped in the requisite two dimes into the slot and the time meter didn't change. I was still on zero minutes. Had I accidentally inserted Canadian coins? I threw in another dime. Still no minutes. It wasn't until I got to Dime Number 5 that the time changed to 15 minutes. So, what was 20 cents for 24 minutes was now 50 cents for 15 minutes. I looked closely at the meter's fine print which nobody ever reads. Yep, they had changed the rates.

I guess I was lucky to find a coin meter at all. Because lots of streets now feature that wonderful new invention. The pay station. Which makes the simple act of parking your car and turns it into a game show stunt. You park. Find the number of the space which is usually poorly stenciled on the curb. Some times, you can find it. Other times, it's obscured by garbage, leaves, a puddle, or some dog shit. Armed with the digits you now need to commit to memory, you start to move your head around like a lighthouse. To the left. To the right. To the left again. To the right again. Just where the hell is that paystation? Oh, look, it's over there. On the next block!

If you're lucky, you still remember the digits when you actually arrive at your pay station. Was that space # 123 or # 128? Okay, I better go back and look again. All of a sudden, you have to carve out two hours of your day to simply drop off your clothes at the tailor.

Then, of course, there was the drama I endured a few months back and previously mentioned in this blog. I had parked my car and inserted a quarter in the meter. But, I noticed that my car was ever so slightly sticking over into a red zone so I hopped back in to move it a few inches. As I walked away from the vehicle, I was met by a parking meter attendant. Mizz Fat N' Black. With an attitude.

"You need to put some change in that meter, sir?"

Huh? I explained that I had already done this and was simply adjusting the car.

"Well, it's the law that you have to put a coin into a meter, sir."

But, what if there was already time on the meter from the previous driver, I asked Mizz Fat N' Black.

"Don't make no difference."

HUH???? She pulled out some card in her wallet that stipulated just that. Was this a new city ordinance? Or simply something you had printed up yourself at Staples? She cocked her head twice.

"It's the law, sir." She proceeded to sashay down the block. Or as best as her XXXL hips could manage the motion. Probably overdue for her Happy Meal at McDonald's. It made no sense. None of it does. But, at least, I can feel heartened by where all this extra money is going.

For a bushel of Supersized Fries.

Dinner last night: Meatloaf back in LA.