Well, more like I left my car in San Francisco and the SF PD/DPT reached through my ribcage and tore out my still-beating heart, held it firmly in front of me, and then asked me politely to pay them $600 to have it back.
I’m not quite sure what happened here. I am pretty confident that I parked in a legitimate space, right beneath a sizable tree and a sign that unambiguously permitted parking. I’m also 100% sure that when I later returned to where my car used to be, there was another car parked in the same spot, unbothered. The best I can figure is that PART of my car may have been encroaching on some red-painted curb indicating that a driveway may be nearby (although this is never clear in San Francisco, which has an abundance of weird inch-high curbs, hidden driveways, 4-foot long parking spaces, and other such confounding set-ups). It was dark and almost historically rainy at the time, and I haven’t had a chance to go back and investigate, so this remains an open question. The following day I tried to inspect the crime scene on Google Street View and the only conclusion I really came to was, again, that cars DO park in that spot. Rightfully or wrongfully I can’t say, but still, at this point the evidence seems to favour that this is a permissible place to park when one is craving affordable French food and wine (< $10/plate, $7/glass).
In any event, the frugality of my dinner choice would prove to be painfully ironic. Apparently some
touchy asshole concerned citizen took issue with the placement of my car within about an hour of me placing it there and narc’ed to the SFPD, who then saw fit to issue me two parking tickets totaling $140, and ordered what must have been the SICKEST most LUXURIOUS auto tow in the history of the world for (and I even had to negotiate this down by $50) a mind-boggling $430.
Moral: don’t park your car in San Francisco unless you hate your bank account.