EVERYTHING
FOR YOUR FAMILY
Mother Knows Best
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The pink parking ticket on the windshield of my car flapped in the breeze, mocking me as I approached. It was the first citation I'd received in more than 25 years and it was going to cost me 35 bucks. According to the policeman who issued the ticket, I had parked in an unmarked parking space. It was the only spot left in the entire lot when I arrived at my son's baseball tournament in San Clemente and I felt lucky to have found it. After locking the doors, I took time to check that I had centered my car between the lines of the parking space (I have a large Grand Marquis) and noticed that the painted white lines were fading a bit - looking more gray than white. They were lines, nonetheless, and my car rested neatly between them. I headed off to watch the game without giving it another thought. Let's review. I had NOT parked at the end of a row, making a spot where none existed. I had NOT parked along a red curb like so many do at my church. I had NOT pulled into a blue handicapped parking space to return a video. I had parked between two lines that indicated a parking space. I'm a stickler for following rules, ever conscious that my two sons are always watching. Heck, I've even written in this very column about the crimes that take place in school parking lots; parents double parking, mindless of others, waving their children through rows of moving cars. I decided to fight the ticket. Monday morning I went back to the empty parking lot to take a photograph to include in my defense. Returning to the scene of the crime, with no other vehicles in the lot, I was surprised at what I discovered. It was clear that the spot I had parked in was not intended to be one. The lot had previously been repainted and without any cars covering the lines, the new spaces were clearly defined with fresh white paint. The old spot I had parked in was, well, questionable, and a fading shadow of its former self. This was not going to be a black-and-white case. Frustrated, I felt the victim of someone else's carelessness. The city crew should have painted over the old spot instead of leaving its existence open for debate. I felt framed. Set up. Victimized. I wanted to show the judge exactly what I saw when I had parked there so I photographed only the space in which I had parked. Waiting for my day in court, I rehearsed my defense in front of my boys. After all, I was also trying to teach them that it's important to stand up for yourself and what you believe to be true. The judge had no idea that so much more than a $35 fine was riding on his decision. In our household, the case of the parking ticket had turned into a test of America's judicial system, and I was determined to show my boys that it can work. "Does this look like a parking place to you?" I challenged the judge, showing him the photo as I opened my defense. To my surprise he said simply, "No. Not really." I was taken aback. I hadn't considered that he wouldn't see things as I had. "It looks like a parking place that has been, sort of, painted over to indicate it's no longer a place," he said, looking up from the photo. I turned it up a notch, kicking into Marsha Clark gear. "There are two white lines on each side," I said firmly, pointing at the photo. "Admittedly not as white as they could be. But, they are not red, nor are there any blue lines denoting handicapped parking. There are no striped lines indicating the end of the aisle. Finally, the words "NO PARKING" aren't visible anywhere. An unmarked space would have NO lines whatsoever." I pulled out all the stops. "If the city of San Clemente wanted to make it clear that this was NOT a parking place, they should have been more clear by completely painting over these lines. Clearly I parked in a marked space." After a pause to review the photograph again, the judge admitted that perhaps this did fall into a gray area that was hard to adjudicate. "Well," he paused, pressing his lips together, "I might have parked here too if the lot was full and I couldn't see all the other spaces," he said reluctantly. My $35 fine was waived and the case dropped. The judicial system was intact and I got a "high-five" from my boys. More importantly, I had learned an important lesson. People see things differently, even though each is sure they're seeing it correctly. I'll have to remember that, as my boys get older, before I pass judgment on their behavior. Not everything is going to be black and white. Sometimes the truth lies somewhere between the lines. Kimberly A. Porrazzo is an author and columnist. She lives in Lake Forest with her husband and two sons. She can be reached at: kimberlyporrazzo@cox.net. |
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