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M.I.A.

Me- in action, sometimes inaction, but always- acting out!
 

Parking on toes. . .

Sunday, November 11, 2007

If you have ever had your vehicle towed then you know the shock, fear, pain, and grief that retrieving your ride can be. Tow-yard workers have a propensity towards a curt disposition (read: ASSHOLES!).
The short version to a long story is: M.I.A. and friends are out and O's car was hoisted and removed. M.I.A. gets to action and calls, gets that the car is in the Lone Star Towing yard and that it will cost O $190 something dollars to get her ride for having been gone less than 2 hours. That sucks, period.
We, M.I.A., O, Moni, get to the nose-high window cut into the side of a trailer in front of the yard. The glass is thick thick- bullet proof thick and very high so that all you can do is put your money in the slot. Without acknowledgement- we wait.
Coughie behind the window continues to pound the keys on a computer and the dot matrix printer behind her stutters away.
M.I.A.- "excuse me, we're here to pick up a car"
Coughie- "you'll have to wait! I have to get these in"
Crew waits.
10 minutes pass, 15 minutes pass.
M.I.A. and Moni pee behind trailer.
30 minutes, 40 minutes.
M.I.A.- "This is some bullshit."
Moni- "Ya know, you could park in front of the gate so that the trucks can't get in or out. . . "
M.I.A- "Is there a towing sign?"
Moni- "nope"
Moving my cute late model RED Jetta to the gate so that it is obviously not budging. Well, it wasn't obvious until I sat on the hood, peace fingers in the air, cigarette perched in corner of mouth. OK- just kidding. I didn't do peace fingers.
Gate begins to groan open and there is, no shit, a GYNORMOUS tow truck coming out of the yard. I mean for real- the front bumper or rather front cattle catch was bigger than the door on my car. *Game time* Jason opens the door and stands up.
Jason- "Hey lady, you gotta move."
M.I.A.- "Well actually, I gotta get my friends car outta there."
Jason- "Not my problem, now can you move your car?"
M.I.A.- still sitting on hood. "Look, there's not a sign that says I can't park here and I'm not trying to make this hard for you I just want my friend to get her car so we can get outta here. . . mainly because I have to pee--- BAD."
Jason- *let's off brake and big-ass tow-er comes creeepin'* "I can move you . . . "
M.I.A.- *head tilts, hands on hips* "Now, you know that you don't want to do that anymore than I want you to. Can you just give me any suggestions on how to get her car out? Does the lady in there like cigarettes? What kind?"
Jason- "Look, I understand what you're going through- I have to work with her. . . hang on"
No shit, Jason gets in the truck and gets Coughie on the radio. She is evidently "entering their shit right now!!!"
Now, we're bonding.
Jason proceeds to explain the woes of towing. I tell the quiet blondie riding shottie that she has cute hair and then- as if it were magic, O's car is ready to be released but not before she does a little sweet talking of her own with big 'J.'
Yeah, we were building and burning bridges at the same time.
I wouldn't say this is 'direct action' but I would say this is a lovely hybrid of protest and mediation.

Go in peace. Park legally.
 
   





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