Adventures of the Young, Broke, and Fabulous: #LAversary Moment--Dude, Where's My Car?!
This month I celebrate having “survived” my first year in LA. In order to commemorate and reflect on the past 12 months, I’ll be sharing one or two stories a week throughout June about my first year in LA. Many of these stories will involve things I haven’t really written/spoken about prior to posting them.
It was a Friday morning. Maybe around 9 or so. I was walking outside to my car because I had big plans for the day. Promo drops to do, and a deposit check to drop off for a spot in a house full of creative women. At least I thought that was the plan. It wasn't. I walked outside and my car was gone.
At first, since I had parked on the street in my neighborhood at the time, which was North Hollywood, I thought I had forgotten where I parked. I walked several blocks. I couldn't find my car. Then, I remembered. I had several outstanding tickets. Parking was not exactly an easy thing to come by in my neighborhood at the time, or anywhere else in L.A. An expired meter tickets runs around $50+. YIKES! So on my young, broke, and fabulous budget, and inability to understand the parking signs in the Los Angeles metro area, brought me to the moment where I was standing outside realizing that my car was impounded. It was a humbling moment to say the least.
I went back inside and called the Department of Transportation. Slowly, I told the agent on the other end of the phone my license plate number. "Is that a California tag ma'am?" "No. No it's Maryland," I replied. Apparently the combination of letters and numbers wasn't that of a California tag. "And what kind of car is it?" "A Nissan Sentra. 2004. Tan." "Your car has been impounded." ::deep inhale:: "How much will it cost me to get it back?" I asked. "$1200," the agent replied. ::deep inhale:: "Ok thank you. And where is the lot that my car was taken to?" A few moments later I had all the information I needed and all I could do was cry. It felt like the room was blacking out around me and every voice in my head was screaming "$1200. $1200." I didn't have that much money. I had a few hundred in my savings and the rest was about to go to a deposit on a new spot. I had been staying with friends for a number of months, and finally had enough money to move. That money was about to be gone. I needed to get my car back, but I was still short some money. After getting myself together I knew what I had to do. I had to call my mom.
Since I was unable to reach her on her cell phone I had to call her at work. After explaining the situation, my mom agreed to help me out on two conditions, which I wouldn't dare repeat in this post--just know that I am forever indebted to my mom. Not only because she birthed me, but because this car thing was beyond serious.
I took the journey, via bus to get my car. It was the middle of the day, and my car was in west bumble****, so getting a ride wasn't an option. Once I got to the lot I had to show my registration to get my car back, but of course it was inside my car. No one just carries their registration on them, but apparently, as I later learned, it's a good idea to keep a copy of it in a safe place other than your car. I hopped into a golf cart and was escorted by an impound employee to my car. Calmly, I used my car remote to unlock the doors and then walked to the passenger side to my glove compartment where I kept my registration. I opened it up and pulled out my registration...that had expired a few months before. I began to panic. I pulled the entire contents out of my glove compartment. It wasn't there. I popped open the trunk. I had a lot of boxes and things in my trunk at the time, and thought for some reason that I could have stored my recently renewed registration there. I tore apart the contents of my trunk. I was on the verge of tears...again. My registration was lost. I was driving around 3,000 miles away from home and had no proof that my car was in fact my car. Ugh.
I called my mom yet again. She could hear the panic in my voice. It's funny no matter how old I get my mom can always tell what's wrong with me. I could always count on her for that..maybe it's a mom thing.
She of course told me to go look again and that it wasn't lost...and of course it wasn't. I had found my registration. I vowed never to leave it in a random spot (like my center console where I found it) ever again.
After hopping back into the golf cart, I went back to the front of the impound lot and proceeded to sign my life away to get my car back. My stomach did flips when I swiped my check card to pay all the fees. I thought about how desperatley I needed (and hell still need) a new laptop, and that I had just given the city of L.A. the amount that it cost for the laptop I had picked out, plus an Apple TV. Yup, a used Macbook Pro and an Apple TV was the amount that I had given the fine City of Angeles.
I hopped on my car, turned up the radio, and drove into the sunset. I had survived getting my car impounded in Los Angeles.
God looks out for children and fools...and curly-haired young ladies from the east coast who foolishly take liberties with parking restrictions.
