"I guess you don't have kids..."
It was this simple sentence that went too far, crossed that invisible boundary, and went way over the line between driver and meter maid . I remember watching that meter maid walk down Sagamore Road crying, repeating those horrible words over and over again to herself. That angry daddy had the typical disgust associated at receiving yet another parking ticket, but it quickly slipped into hostile disrespect. On a gut feeling that she didn't have children ,he used that to get his message across. That was three years ago, and as I approach my car, that familiar pink envelope accompanied by a parking ticket, is smashed under my windshield wiper.
A common theme in small towns like Bronxville and Scarsdale is to get very angry at the meter maid. It's like getting caught doing something bad, reprimanded—a small town butt whupping. All you needed to do was run into the A&P and get milk and now that milk cost you $24. I had to face the truth, I knew my time I had run out. I took an extra 5 minutes to chat with someone and I got caught with an expired meter. That feeling of getting caught never ceases to humiliate.
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It wasn't until I talked to one of the local meter maids that I came to fully understand their job. Eight hours a day on your feet with a tremendous amount of walking. When they go back to their boss at the end of the day they are expected to produce tickets. With a "how many fish have you caught today" type of attitude. A typical Bronxville parking ticket is $20, Yonkers is $45, and there are other places with higher price points. It used to be okay to yell at the meter maid, lay it on the horn as they walk by your car, glare at them with an angry snarl, but really, the trend is over. It's time to own up to the ticket. Face it, you got caught, and it feels so personal, but the truth is it's not. So while you drive around town with your parking ticket under your windshield wiper, flapping in the wind, remember that there's a meter maid that made a catch for the day.
