My Neighborhood Bandit

My neighborhood has a parking permit bandit. Like most people moving to a city with a vehicle makes me contractually obligated to be at war with the parking authority. I know on the grand scale of police offenses, giving out unnecessary parking permits is low on the list of offenses. Getting a ticket still stings. Seeing one of those neon orange envelopes can derail your whole mood. Massachusetts is one of the only states where if your car is in the process of being towed, and you claim it's your car, they can still decide to tow it. Boston is always near the top in terms of the cost of parking tickets, as well. Not to mention that spots are a finite resource. In terms of city planning, well, there was none. Boston is a city that was developed around the existing buildings, meaning that one-way streets pop out of nowhere, sometimes the streets feel so narrow you understand why it was made for horses and pedestrians. The city will spin you in circles and spit you out near the river. You can feel that Boston is the type of place that fell together, paved streets coming far after buildings. Even after obtaining a parking pass, two concerns can still pop up. Street cleaning and snow. If the snow is blocking your permit - ticket. In short, having a car in Boston is a nightmare. City living comes with these hyper-specific frustrations.

I’ve always had pretty good stranger luck. I’ve eaten just the right amount of extra bagels to look like a comforting presence to most people. Or maybe it’s because I look like everybody’s cousin, or the helpful science lab partner you had in 7th grade, but most people react pretty well to me. Yet, it still surprises me when people are extra kind. Those small interactions can bring me out of my head a little. A few summers ago my dog and I were, metaphorically speaking, at the end of our leash. Every walk we went up just ended up with both of us frustrated. Our walking habits so out of sync - my dog was trying to pull out my arm socket every time he wanted to sniff something, and me trying to correct that behavior with no knowledge on how to actually do that. A kind old lady approached me one sunny afternoon and said, “How exciting that they have so much to smell!” and walked right on. I think about that sentence all the time. Every time I start getting frustrated, I hear her voice again and I don’t react with anger at my excited dog. Sometimes these small words can shine an entirely different light on a situation. From the small gestures to the grand ones, these tiny slices of your day with a stranger can be a reminder that we all have one thing in common - being here together.

But back to the permit parking bandit. A few times after those neon orange delinquent notices were strapped to my windshield, I remember noticing that the ticket itself was missing. I chalked that up to a strong gust of wind, or an inexperienced cop. Probably the latter. Naturally, I would leave these tickets until the last week they were due, which is my right within the Boston law. When I went to I plug in my license number - no ticket. Nothing due. Nothing in the system. Hm. Maybe they never entered it. The case of the missing ticket would be dropped down to a low-level mystery, shuffled into the recesses of my brain. Obviously, I would never remind the City of Boston parking authority that my ticket wasn’t really paid, or lost in the bureaucratic shuffle, no need to give them the satisfaction.

I probably would have forgotten these tickets entirely but last week my roommate and I were walking to her car when I noticed a hooded figure walking swiftly away. I paused. Cities are strange places, so I let them walk on without questioning why they were at the windshield. Of course, affixed to the windshield wiper, a neon orange envelope. I opened it to find no ticket, then it clicked. Our neighborhood has a parking permit bandit! My current hypothesis is that a kind stranger is picking up tickets and paying them for us. Could this all be a strange string of coincidences - of course! But I want to believe that some kind soul is walking home from work and deciding to take some of our burdens. It’s such a pure act of kindness I can’t help but smile. Our days are built in these small interactions because in so many ways our lives are all weaved together. Sometimes strangers become friends, but for the most part, they remain foreign to us. I love the reminders of the ways we can connect. The reminder we all touch each other’s lives and sometimes, the only thing we can determine is how we choose to present ourselves to one another. Choose the kind decisions, choose not to react with fear or anger. We can all actively decide to put out some positivity, and pay a few extra parking tickets. I love these human moments of goodness, and I love the reminder to put out my little bits of good into this difficult universe. So thanks, Parking Permit Bandit, your secret is safe with me.