In the interest of context, let me present the alternate side of the street schedule in the Ft. Greene area of Brooklyn.
Mon, Tues, Thursday, Friday. Some streets require you to move your vehicle at 9:30 am, some at 11. Wednesday is free. Kind of like landing on get out of jail. On Monday night (October 1) I moved my car to the appropriate side of the street which would require me to move it on Thursday, seeing as Wednesday was a freeby. Unfortunately I failed to notice that my inspection sticker expired on 9.31.07. (Sunday). Come Wednesday night (10pm) I go to move the car and find I have a $65 ticket for my expired inspection sticker. Well, no point in moving it, I'll just grab it on the way in to work tomorrow and drop it off at the inspection place closest to the office.
Thursday morning I get up, walk the dog, shower, drop off an overdue dvd rental and head over to the car. Sonofabitch, there are 2 tickets on my car's windshield. I rip of f the top ticket and sure enough, it is for the same offese, just 26 hours later. I stopped, ticket crumpling in my hand, and imagined the officer driving by at 7:30 am and stopping his patrol car in front of mine. He steps out and inspects the resident ticket. 7:30 am, Oct 3. Well, It would be down right rude to issue yet another ticket in less than one day, better wait until at least 9:30. He hops back in the cruiser, winks at his partner, a freshly shaven graduate of the academy and suggests that they grab some bagels on Dekalb and watch the milfs take there offspring to daycare.
At this point I am faced with the realization that the NYPD is going to continue to pepper my car with tickets until I get the car inspected, regardless of the fact that it is the middle of the week and I've got more inportant things to do like forget to show up for jury duty. I slide into the drivers seat and shove the tickets into the cup holder for safe keeping. The Car starts with little to no indication that my expired inspection sticker has passed on, although the situation has now made me acutely aware of the fact that there is a golf ball sized explosion of bird shit on my hood which seems to announce that I don't take particularly good care of my car.
Having been to establishments that conduct vehicular inspections, I'm not too concerned about how they might perceive me. In all my interactions its more like buying beer from a dirty bodega when you're 17. In this case the exchange went something like thia:
"What do you want?"
"Do you do inspections?"
"Where is your car?"
"Uh, right there."
"What year?"
"2006."
"How many miles?"
""Uh, I don't know, 6000?"
"OK, I give you sticker. It is new car, no problem. Otherwise, I have to take off tires."
"Uh, OK, how much?"
"$37"
Done and done. After this fun exchange I head to work with my shiny new receipt for an inspection that never happened and send it to those heartless bastards down on Fulton st to give me a "hearing". For the record, bite me.
