Screw Parking Tickets (And the Cops Who Give Them!) Get This Halloween Outfit.

I.  HATE.  PARKING.  TICKETS.

(Who doesn’t, right?)

I’ve clocked in seven.  Yep, that’s right, SEVEN tickets in the past six months.  In case the math is failing you, that’s more than one ticket per month.

(And people wonder why I’m not a big fan of cops.)

The $25 Parking Ticket. The handwritten phone number and address at the top is the police precinct where the cop works who issued the ticket. I called to complain but no response.

A few days ago, I noticed on my windshield another lovely ticket. This time for $25.

The alleged crime:  “WRONG DIRECTION OR 12” FROM CUR”

Are you kidding me? 

That’s a nice Halloween prank.

I certainly wasn’t parked the wrong direction and I certainly wasn’t 12 inches from the curb. I have a Volkswagen Jetta, not a beefy Suburban.

This is just another excuse from the City of Chicago to get more money. We all know that Mayor Richard M. Daley sold our city’s soul in the get-rich-quick-Olympic-dream. But now all of us are dealing with the consequences.

The cop who gave me the latest ticket, last name  of Falkner, ID 718,  has been a real jerk.

The same cop also gave me a ticket for also allegedly parking too close to a fire hydrant. (Not true. I was in front of the yellow painted curb, but I was given a ticket anyways.)

I also was given a ticket for parking – get this – too close to the line in front of the crosswalk.  Not the crosswalk, but the white line that is BEFORE the crosswalk near a stop sign. It was a legal parking spot that people park in all the time.

(Luckily both tickets were thrown out in court, after I brought in photos to prove that neither situation was accurate.)

Oh and did I mention one of the other tickets given to me happened while I was dropping off a friend at O’Hare Airport. The crime: allegedly being double parked or standing – aka sitting in the car.

Mind you, the car was running, so I wasn’t technically parked and I was there for less than  two minutes.  TWO MINUTES! I even checked the clock to make sure.

My friend was flying back to Florida and we were running late. He grabbed his bags, gave me a quick hug and then I hopped back in the car. I pulled out my map for a quick glance (less than 30 seconds) since I had just moved into the city limits.  Without warning, the cop (Badge No. T280)  slapped a ticket on my windshield before I could say anything. When I got out of my car to ask why I had been given a ticket, I was simply told, “lady you need to move along.”

Great, thanks for the help.

Almost all of my friends have had a similar parking ticket experience.

THE EVIDENCE

The Chicago Tribune’s Jon Hilkevitch backed up my claim on Monday with his column ”Chicago parking tickets are up 26 percent this year.”  

A ticketing blitz in the city has led to a 26 percent spike in parking meter violations so far in 2009, according to city records provided to the Tribune in response to a Freedom of Information Act request….

The stepped-up enforcement contributed to a $7 million year-over-year increase in parking ticket revenue, which totaled $119.2 million from January through August, the Chicago Department of Revenue reported.

As far as my other tickets, two were for red light violations. Okay, so maybe I deserved those. Maybe.

But how many accidents and problems have been caused by people slamming on their breaks instead of going through?

As so noted, plenty of Chicago suburbs have already started dismantling their red light cameras.  They were outlawed in Minnesota and $2.6 million was refunded to the people.

Why?   Because according to thenewspaper.com

the Minnesota Supreme Court had ruled that the use of automating ticketing machines violated state law in April 2007 and deprived motorists of due process (view ruling).

My most recent ticket prior to the alleged $25 12-inch curb violation, was having expired plates.

The ticket was  issued on July 8. My birthday is the third week in June. Technically you have a 30-day grace period, but the cop didn’t care. 

And here’s the kicker:

I hadn’t paid the registration by the end of June because  my wallet was stolen out of my purse, at a Verizon store on Irving Park, several days after my birthday.  I had to cancel all of my credit cards, close my bank account. All said and done  it took about nine days to regain my life, or at least most of it. I didn’t have any way of paying the registration until I had my credit cards and debt card re-issued. But by then the cop had already given me a ticket.

NO DATE FOR THE COP, LOTS OF TICKETS FOR ME

But I wonder how many of the parking tickets are because a State Trooper named Bo who asked me out on a date when he showed up at the scene of a car accident. I politely tried to turn him down. (Maybe there is no connection because some of the tickets did happen before this, but I’m still suspicious.)

Here are the details:

Just a week prior to getting my wallet stolen, my car was rear-ended by a taxi driver going northbound on the Kennedy Expressway (I-90.) I pulled over to the  side of the road and exchanged information with the taxi driver. I had his insurance card. He had mine.

After I called the police to report the accident the taxi driver became agitated. I could tell he was going to take off. He asked for his insurance card back. I told him I would give it back to him after the police officer showed up. He insisted again. So I started to back peddle into my car. I was already in my car and was reaching for the  window button to roll it up when the taxi driver literally reached into my car and tried to grab his insurance card back from me.

Luckily I was a second faster than he was and the doors were locked.  I called the police again and explained the situation. Whoever answered the non-emergency line told me  over the phone that I was smart to hold on to the insurance card.

Finally an officer (Bo) shows up. (About 30 minutes after I originally called.) And he proceeds to yell at both of us.

 ”Can you drive,” he asks me.

“Yes,” I  tell him.

“Can you drive,” he asks the  taxi driver.

“Yes,” says the taxi driver.

“Then why the hell are the two of you on the side of the  road,” the cop bellowed at us.

(Great now I’m getting yelled at by the cop who was supposed to help me.)

The taxi driver pipes in: “She has my insurance card and won’t give it back to me.”

“Why didn’t you give him back his insurance card,” the officer asks me.

I explain how I was going to return the insurance card as soon as the officer showed up and reminded him, that the taxi driver still had my insurance card and was acting like he was going to take off.

“You still can’t keep his insurance card,” the cop yelled back at me. “Even if he is going to take off.”

Then the police officer directed us to pull off at the next exit.  

“So can I leave now,” stupidly asks the taxi driver.

“No,” the cop screams back, “Get the hell in your car and follow me.”

(Umm, hello, this was my point all along.)

We don’t get to the next exit, just a bigger shoulder. As I pull over the cop spins his car around, so our front bumpers are facing each other. He  motions for me to roll down my window.

“You went to IU (Indiana University)” he asks, noting my license plate frame holder.

Indiana University. http://www.flickr.com/photos/alykat/ / CC BY-NC 2.0

“Yes,” I tell him. Turns out he who went to Indiana around the same time frame as I did and begins to ask me questions about my experience: everything from my major (Journalism) to the type of bars I frequented and restaurants I liked in Bloomington, Ind. Seemingly harmless, at first. Except it continued for the next 45 minutes and  turned into asking me what I liked to do in Chicago. (Mind you the taxi driver has a passenger in his car. Even after I reminded the cop of this, he told me  it was the taxi driver’s own fault for not calling another cab for his customer.)

The cop then tried to make nice on his initial appearance with the “I guess I was a little harsh when I showed up,” comment. He then proceeds to ask me out on a date.

“I think we’d have a really nice time if we went out some time,” he said.

I give him a stunned look, hoping that he can just give me the incident report, so I can file an insurance claim against the taxi driver.

Still I say nothing. (Hint to cop, no answer is an answer.)

“Well,” he continues. “It’s not like this is a marriage proposal. It’s just dinner. But you can say No.”

(Really, the arrogance is overwhelming.)

So I say No.

He then asks ” if I have a boyfriend or if I’m gay.”

“No and No,” I tell Mr. Egotistical.

(Really, I couldn’t just possibly be turning you down. I’m not gay and I don’t have a boyfriend. But that doesn’t mean I want to suffer another minute of my life around you. The past hour and a half has been more than enough.) 

A few days later I get a phone call from the cop who apparently got my cell phone number, which I hadn’t given him, off of my accident report.  The voicemail message went something like this…”This is  Trooper Bo, we met at the car accident…”

 The 1990’s Nike commercial Bo Does (NOT) Know started playing in my head. And I don’t respond.

A few days later the police officer tries to friend me on Facebook. I don’t respond to that either.

Several days later, I get the ticket for expired plates. Maybe  just a coincidence. Maybe not.

I probably should have filed a claim. But I didn’t. They give you seven  days to file a grievance. That time has come and gone.

 But if you’re as sick of parking tickets (and the cops who give them) as I am, consider this Halloween costume idea, courtesy of  The Parking Geek aka TheMeterExpired.com on ChicagoNow. (After my frustration with Chicago’s parking monsters it gave me pause to laugh.)

Or, I may just dress up this Halloween as a police officer who doles out thousands of parking tickets.  Because really,  it doesn’t get much scarier than that.