Downtown, No Finer Place for Sure
Our downtown is a mess to drive around in. Downtowns always are.
Do I have enough change for the parking meters conveniently near Parking Meter Patrol headquarters?
Will Wells Fargo care if I park in its parking lot, instead of the $5 public parking garage nearby?
Will another street I want to turn south turn out to be a one-way street heading north?
Can I find where I’m going?
Respectively: no; almost; yes; only if I have an hour to spare.
I wouldn’t care about those questions most days of my life. It would take a very good reason to make me wouldn’t set foot near our downtown district on a Friday morning. Unfortunately, I had one.
According to my employer, the local prison is the only place I could get my fingerprints done on Friday mornings, and the deadline to turn in our form to said employer was Friday at 10 a.m. We were told this on Thursday.
I won’t even try to give you the hyjink-by-hijink breakdown — I’m no Lovecraft — but suffice it to say that even on what felt like short notice, I made out to the county jail in the time allotted, and only my checking account took a hit.
I felt good. I had half an hour to spare, and only one errand left. Then I remembered that my errand was to get a replacement Social Security card.
This isn’t going to end well.