In a developing story out of Lower Manhattan, Charity McClure confirmed what is ultimately unconfirmable after staring at a parking sign for 45 minutes.
“Friday one-to-four, half-hour parking, Sunday commercial vehicles only,” said McClure. “So…we should be good? I think we’re good. I think.”
Speaking with reporters, McClure confirms she in fact has no idea.
“I spent most of the time staring at the sign, entirely spaced out,” she says. “ It’s Saturday brunch-time, eleven blocks from the pre-decided cafe, and I had managed to wedge my Camry between two fire hydrants, a driveway, and a parking sign. There was absolutely no way of knowing whether or not one could park there.”
The sign in question was actually six signs, all on the same pole and in different fonts, with one in Spanish. Plus, all her college friends were huddled around the Toyota with their arms crossed waiting for her thumbs-up.
“The longer I stared at the pole, the worse it got,” McClure says. “The signs were positioned halfway between the north and east-facing cars, angled exactly 45 degrees between the blocks. It was later discovered that someone had previously graffitied an apostrophe-t onto the word ‘can,’ along with some distractingly detailed penis doodles.”
The neighborhood was at an impasse over McClure’s unidentifiable maneuver.
“You can’t park there,” a bystander observed.
“You can on Labor Day,” remarked another.
The crowd was out of control as more emergency vehicles pulled next to the non-spot.
“I didn’t even want to drive,” McClure admitted. “But Amanda is visiting from Connecticut, and she always whines that the subway smells like baby wipes!”
Ultimately, her decision cost her $165 for parking in a loading zone every other Sunday between noon and 12:30 p.m.
