Car Jail

While my own Saturn is dropping dead every two blocks in California, there are other Saturns in trouble here in New York.

Yesterday, my best-and-oldest friend, with whom I am living, had her Saturn towed; not an uncommon occurence here in the land where alternate side of the street parking regulations were invented. She went to reclaim it and realized that she had lost her driver's license. No license, no car, she was told, and so I came along with my valid California driver's license. We took a cab to a grim and desolate corner of Brooklyn and arrived at the NYPD Tow Yards. By this time, night had fallen and a chill had set in, just to set the mood. We walked along a path surrounded on both sides by chain link fence to a rickety building in the middle of nowhere. The line of those waiting to reclaim their cars was long and, for obvious reasons,no one was in a good mood. The walls were painted an utterly cheerless industrial blue. A long glass window separated the workers from those of us separated from our cars. Every few feet along its length, a handwritten sign warned us "Do not come to the window until you are called!! Stand behind the "T" on the floor!!" We were lucky enough to draw the window of the worker who had helped my friend earlier, and passed through quickly once I produced my license. Then we were told to wait outside. An NYPD van, flashing its police lights, pulled up, and we were both ready to get in. "Not both of you - only the driver", the cop at the wheel said. That would be me; the one with the license. I hoped I would recognize my friend's car when I saw it. And so I took off on a ride through what seemed to be the world's largest parking lot. If New York can collect on all those cars, the city's money troubles should be over.

The car was retrieved and all is well except for the outrageous parking ticket and tow fees my friend had to pay. One in car jail and the other in the repair shop. On opposite ends of the country. Bad weekend for Saturns.