Getting your car towed, improv & the gym

Whatta day yesterday was. I run out the door all cheerful-like to move my car at the designated street cleaning time (yes, I live in NYC) and round the corner, keys in hand to see... nothing. The whole block is clear of cars. At the very end are a couple of work trucks with their lights flashing and then I see it... a small red sign that the PIC and I did not see the night before as we parked in the dark: NO STANDING 7AM - 7PM.

FUCK!!!!!

So I hussle my butt back to the apt and immediately call my husband with that resigned feeling of facing a sliver of doom settling into my heart. We both beat ourselves up for a few minutes before I say, "Hey! It happens" and we move on.

I spend an hour on the phone with one of my brothers steeping more and more in denial at the reality waiting for me: The Brooklyn Tow Pound.

Well, first I call the Dept. of Finance for NYC and get directed to the Replocation office ("I think your car has been Relocated, if there are work trucks on the block? On the actual block? There's work being done? Yeah, I bet it's been relocated.") where a woman answers the phone and says, "There's work being done on the block? On the actual block? Yeah, it's probably been relocated to... somewhere else in your neighborhood." Me: ...Is there a way to tell if it's been relocated? Her: You just have to... look around... your neighborhood, for your car. PAUSE Me: What? Her: Just look around your neighborhood. Me: Is there a way to confirm that it has, in fact, been relocated. Her: Oh... well, the woman who can help you with that has gone to lunch, so you'll have to call back in an hour or so. Me: Ok, thank you.

So then I called the Brooklyn Tow Pound and the woman answered the phone in a voice SLIGHTLY above a soul-deadened whisper. No inflection: brooklyntowpound. Me: Yeah, I think my car was towed. DEEP SIGH Her: plate# Me: It's a CA plate. SILENCE Her: Hello?
Me: Yeah! Her: plate# Me: [i give plate #] Her: Yeah, we got it. Me: And where are you, exactly? Her [suddenly booming, crisp voice]: SANDS AND NAVY STREETS. Me: What do I need to retrieve it? Her [back to monotone]: licenseregistrationinsurancecard. Me: My registration is in the car. BEAT BEAT SIGH Her: we'll see about that when you get down here.

So I get a ride from a good friend of mine who when he sees the exterior of the tow pound says, "Jesus, it looks like Auschwitz!" And it does.

I wait in line for 2+ hours with about 30 other grumbling people and finally pay $185 (which does not include the TICKET we also got... bastards) and get a slip and am told to "wait by the fence".

By this time it's 6PM and I'm late for trying to get to my improv class in the city. I'm standing in the pitch dark in Auschwitz Tow Pound by a collection of fences with a receipt in my hand.

I start walking towards a guard booth at the entrance to the Pound and one of the 3 city cops inside sticks his head out of the heated booth and yells across the empty lot, "Maam?? Can I help you?!" I yell back, holding up my receipt, "Where do I collect my car?" and he says, "Wait by the fence!" I gesture to where I was just waiting and he nods and closes the door.

I wait.
And wait.
And wait.

Then I walk over the other police booth shining like a beacon in the night and ask someone else what to do. He tells me that I should wait where I was and a van will come take me to my car.

I wait a few more minutes and a police van shows up, lets two guys off and picks me and one other guy up. She drops him off first and then asks me what kind of car I have. I say, "Blue Honda Civic". We drive around and it's hard to see the colors of the cars it's so dark. She says what I think is: It's a dark night. I chuckle and say: yeah, it is. Her: DARK or LIGHT honda? I mumble and say: Oh, dark. It's this one on the left.

Then driving into Manhattan to try to get to my class which I did end up making, just, 3 separate people PUT THEMSELVES in front of my car separately, consecutively and within about 4 minutes. I was driving slowly and carefully through the East Village and first a crack addict with her tummy hanging is just walking down the middle of the right lane on Houston. Just... walking, and talking... to herself.

Then 30 seconds later a homeless man in a wheelchair is wheeling himself (very poorly) in the street and I barely see him, but luckily do. Then about 2 minutes later I'm driving through a green light and a kid on a skateboard comes careening in front of my car, he gets into my headlights and freezes, scared. I stop. He bends down, grabs his skateboard and runs across the rest of the intersection.

Needless to say, I was glad to get the fuck out of my car and leave it in a lot for class.