They have a concierge at the tow pound

On the heels of a dead battery, the NYC tow pound awaits. I wait too.

While yesterday ended with a dead car battery, today ended with (drumroll, please) me having to retrieve the car from the NYC Tow Pound. I am not shitting here and believe me I can shit with the best and I have (I’m not sure what I mean by that).  I go down around 5 PM (yes, in all day…working, no, not wanking) to look for a spot that is “good for tomorrow” and the car is not where I recall it being. Curious. Upon closer examination of the street signs, I knew I was pound-bound. Confirmed on phone. Zipping down the west side in a trad yellow, Trump buildings to my left (see where this is going, intrepid travelers?) which gradually morph into barricades with seas of protestors behind them cattle-like (bovine-like?), a sense of unease begins to set in.  At the pound at Pier 76 and its environs, there is an overwhelming police presence. Holy fuck, Trump is in NYC and has an event at the Intrepid Air Sea Spaceship. I enter the tow pound and it is essentially a police station. It’s empty. Woo. I bound up to the window, present my papers, pay my $185 (if I picked it up tomorrow – only another $20! Bargain. I still owe $115 for the ticket.) I am told to head around the bend and see the concierge. The concierge? I present my papers to the obese, desk-bound traffic officer, I mean, concierge. I am now sent into the garage area which is a vast dusty hangar of cars and tow trucks. A golf cart and driver appear. Do I sit up front with him like a buddy or in the back as if being whisked to the 10th hole for a sudden death playoff? I opt for sudden death. Reunited with the vehicle (cop-speak), thankfully, the car battery has held its charge and off I head to the exit whereupon I re-present my papers to the  boothed traffic officer, I mean, exit minister.  Up goes the gate and out I head only to be stopped at the pound fence by a police officer. “You’ll have to wait, sir. The area is frozen for now. Please turn off your engine.”  I slip easily yet shockingly into a state of acceptance. Politics aside, I am going to see the presidential motorcade up close. This excites me. No, not in that way.  Well, maybe a little. Took video of the parade. I felt kinda bad for the last car. I’m sensitive that way. I waited about an hour before my release and headed back uptown. What? Nope. I couldn’t find a spot “good for tomorrow.” Thanks for asking.

fullsizeoutput_10cbThe decoy vehicle passes by quickly and I can’t tell if Carrot Top or SpongeBob is the presidential stunt-double.

Author: plutvak

Finally putting those thoughts down that had people scrunching their faces or quietly sneaking away but nonetheless made me laugh. So scrunch, sneak, laugh, enjoy.

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