One of the nice things about living where I do is that for the first time in my life, we live close enough to the city to use public transportation as a viable means of getting there and back. Our options are typically to either catch a bus near the house, transferring to the L if necessary, or drive to Midway and use the very reasonably priced Park and Ride.

Last night, we were heading into the city for a fun evening. Traffic on 55 northbound was pretty light, so I debated simply driving in, but remembered how little I enjoy dealing with parking in Wrigleyville. So we parked at the Park and Ride, and made our way to the Orange line.

Now, the way that Park and Ride works is you park in a numbered spot, go inside through the turnstile to the train, and put your money in the corresponding numbered slot. I parked in a spot reserved for Monthly parking but after 10AM becomes freely available. Technically, the spaces are reserved from midnight until 10AM, with overnight parking forbidden, if you can wrap your head around that logic. Since we got there are 6:10PM, I figured we were fine based on our experiences the week before. We made our way in and walked up to the payment board. I had some immediate angst since I forgot to make a point to memorize the number. I knew it was in the teens, and 17 was in my head. I didn’t want to be late, so I jammed the two $1 bills into slot 17 and hoped I was right.

Our train ride was uneventful, and we had a fun evening. We watched a live script reading of Time Dash at IO, followed by dinner at Chen’s. We made our way to the trains to get back to Midway. Looking at the clock, I figured we’d be getting to Midway around midnight, and I was pretty close. I put it at around 12:10 or so.

Upon leaving the station, my heart sank. I couldn’t see my car. Flashback to paying for the car — I must have paid the wrong slot! We walked over to the lot and found that we actually had paid correctly, we had been in spot number 17. While waiting for CTA to call me back to tell me if I had been towed or not, a tow truck pulled in and hooked up to a van a few spots away. I flagged him down and asked if he’d towed my car.

“Volkswagen?” he asked.

“Yup,” said I.

He affirmed he had, and confirmed that it was because I was in a reserved spot after midnight. They start towing promptly at midnight, and because I was the closest spot, mine was the first to go. Lucky me. I asked if I could get my car that night, and he said I could, but I had to make my own way to the towing company since he was not allowed to give me a ride. He also informed me the fee to get my car was $150. How pleased this made me is left to the reader’s imagination.

And we now enter the bizarre part of the story I’ll call The Helpful or Creepy Guy Interlude. As we were standing there on the corner trying to figure out what to do, the towing place called me back. While I was talking to the guy, a car pulled up alongside us and the driver was asking Tisha questions. I was trying to sweet talk my way into getting my car back for free, while she was having a conversation with The Helpful or Creepy Guy, presumably about what happened to us. After I got off the phone, I found out that The Helpful or Creepy Guy saw them drop my car off at a parking lot just north of the airport, ostensibly so the tow truck driver hooking up to the van over there could come back and get more cars before their owners got back. This made some sense, but I wasn’t quite sure, since the guy on the phone (not the guy in the tow truck) identified my car and the spot it was in. The Helpful or Creepy Guy offered to give us a lift to where the car was, but since it was now close to 1AM, and since we couldn’t decide if he was helpful or creepy, we declined.

We hopped a cab at Midway and rode to the towing company, with an intermission (entertainment provided by The Longest and Slowest Train in the World performing the one act play Watch How Long I Can Tie Up Traffic on Archer). On the ride, we passed the place the Helpful or Creepy Guy said our car was, and it wasn’t there. Also on the way, we met up with the tow truck, who took a different route to the tow yard than we did, and wouldn’t have passed by the spot where the Helpful or Creepy Guy said it was. So I’m leaning towards Creepy.

After paying the cabby $15, I went inside and paid my towing fee of $150. 10 minutes late. $150. Sigh. The guy behind the counter then directed me to follow the tow truck driver who would take me to the car. He asked me to hop into the truck and he’d drive me to the tow lot.

I’ll repeat that.

The guy who said he wasn’t allowed to give me a ride to the tow yard was going to give me a ride to the tow yard.

I just quietly steamed as he drove me there, with another of his victims in tow. I reflected on my environmentally friendly and economical ways as I drove home from our adventure. Our fun evening ended up costing us almost $200 in transportation related charges. I’ve flown for less than that.  I’m at a loss for words. All said and done, it’s one night I’m glad is over.

On the bright side, when I got home, I found one of these waiting for me. Rock on!