We bought a fine used car. Got all the necessary permissions and approvals, insurance, authorization etc. Everything in good order to park on the street in the historical center where we live.
This week we drove north to Tuscany, stayed overnight, then returned. Quickly and easily we cruised into a choice open parking spot, central to everything. Near our apartment.
A few hours after our return one of us had to go out to check that our car was still in a good position and hadn’t been devastated or disintegrated by vandals. I think I checked that time. We slept well that night.
The next morning she checked on the well being of the car. It was conveniently located and easy to check on. Again, all was well.
Sometime later in the afternoon both she and I at different times had walked by to verify that all was well. It was.
Then this morning at the crack of seven she opened her eyes with the thought that we hadn’t placed the large, colorful parking permission card on the dash. Visions of getting the contraption on our wheels, the so-called boot, or getting towed away to beyond hell fires where only a small fortune in paid fines can redeem a vehicle.
“Impossible”, I decried. “We each checked the car several times.” How could it be that we would forget to put the parking permission card in the front window?
We got dressed and ran down to check. No permission card on the dash. No ticket and no boot. She got the parking permission card out of the glove compartment, hurriedly put it in the window and we left.
We walked around for a while checking the neighborhood availability of precious parking spaces, had two coffees at two different locations, then went home. Our car is ok and, for now, so are we.