Miserable Marvin, Parking Poop

What ever happened to Lovely Rita, Meter Maid? We seem to be stuck with Miserable Marvin, Parking Poop.

We are fortunate enough to live in one of those beach cities that afford its residents clean air, breathtaking vistas, and one street parking space per ten residents. Please don’t ask why we don’t just park in our garage or driveway – when our tiny beach cottage was built, back in the 30’s, parking here just wasn’t an issue. Couple with this the obsessive cleanliness of our city public works department and we’re left with two days each week, when either one side of the street or the other is out of commission.

My husband and I regularly do the Friday morning shuffle, when, bleary-eyed-- coffee in one hand, newspaper in the other--we realize that one--or both---of our cars is illegally parked. There then ensues a frantic search for our keys and if time permits, a change from robe and slippers to some more appropriate outdoor attire, followed by a mad dash to our cars to perform an elaborate ballet of three-point maneuvers and illegal U-turns before Miserable Marvin appears, right on schedule at exactly 8:00 a.m.

Unfortunately, we don’t always make it. In fact we’ve had so many parking tickets in the three years since we’ve lived here, I’m considering asking the city to erect a statue to us in honor of our philanthropic contributions to the community.

Now, I know that Marvin’s just doing his job and I’m sure it’s a thankless job—I mean, imagine going to work everyday and having NOBODY pleased to see you—but really, does he have to be quite so crabby? When we beg for absolution for our parking sins, we don’t really expect him to wink and say, “Just this once, then, but don’t tell anyone.” I mean, rules are rules--we know that. But he can’t see the slightest humor in seeing two people who look like they’ve just crawled out from under a hedge, flying down the street in their pajamas faster than Linford Christie? He doesn’t crack a smile, not even an apologetic shrug; he just twangs the windshield wiper on top of the ticket and without even making eye contact, climbs into his truck and goes off in search of the next victim.

So, Marvin, this poem is for you:

Ode to Miserable Marvin

Oh Marvin, poor Marvin,
Your lonesome heart is starvin’
For someone who will say,
“Boy, you really made my day.”

But there’s no-one understands
That the City ties your hands,
And the nature of your work,
Is what makes you such a jerk.

Oh, if folks would just obey,
They would have a nicer day.
But the lows to which they stoop,
Are what make you such a poop.

So this law-abiding slob
Says, “Go on and do your job”
And I’ll add without reserve,
“We all get what we deserve.”