My PVB adventure.

Policy, as a concept, turns everyday, normal people like me and (I assume) you into unthinking, unfeeling automatons, capable only to spout their preprogrammed lines with no regard to context or common sense.

On a related note, I recently made a trip to the Parking Violations Bureau.

For the whys, see my previous post. Long story short, I stupidly underestimated the level of LA’s stupidity.

The PVB I went to is in a cramped little office that seems perpetually packed with customers. (Customers? Offenders? Lost souls?) When you come in, the first thing you do is take a number from a dispenser, like you’re in a deli from the ‘50s. I honestly didn’t know that people still used the take-a-number system. I thought that we had moved past such things with the advent of the “line,” but I was apparently mistaken.

I waited as patiently as I could, which is to say not very patiently at all. There were a few chairs available, but I didn’t feel especially inclined to sit next to the 90-year-old cowboy with a handlebar mustache who smelled like old cheese. I also didn’t really feel comfortable sitting next to the 300-pound woman in the back who kept stretching out her bubble gum with her hand, as if she was trying to see how far she could stretch it before it snapped. Then she crammed the entire thing back into her mouth to start the process over again.

So I started to pace. And as I paced, I ran through my battle plan.

“Always have a battle plan.” That’s my motto. Whether it’s arguing your way out of a ticket or shopping for groceries, always know the battle plan. And so I ran through the conversation as the numbers slowly ticked by.

ME: Hello, ma’am. I’d like to discuss this ticket to you.

(I hand her the ticket.)

AGENT: “It says here you parked in the red zone. Did you park in the red zone?”

ME: “Yes and no.”

AGENT: Oh? It sounds like this situation is more complex than it would first appear. I’m extremely interested in your side of the story.

ME: My pleasure. You see, I didn’t realize I had parked in the red zone. It was only an inch or so, maybe even less. And I was only in the zone for a moment or two. No harm was done, and in the future I’ll be certain to be more careful.

AGENT: I completely understand, sir. Let me tear this ticket up for you.

(She proceeds to tear up the ticket, and then burn the scraps.)

AGENT: Have a nice day.

This seemed like the most reasonable outcome, I assured myself. And so when my number came up, I walked up to the counter completely confident.

ME: Hello, ma’am. I’d like to discuss—

AGENT: Let’s see it.

(I slid the ticket beneath the bulletproof glass to her.

AGENT: It says here you parked in the red zone. Did you park in the red zone?

ME: Yes and no.

AGENT: So you admit guilt. That’s fifty-five dollars.

ME: No…I...

AGENT: Either you did or you didn’t. Were in your in the red zone?

ME: Technically yes, but—

AGENT: Cash or check? We don’t accept credit cards.

Thank you, government. Next time I’m just going to lie.