Look out kid
It’s somethin’ you did
God knows when
But you’re doin’ it again
You better duck down the alley way
Lookin’ for a new friend
The man in the coon-skin cap
By the big pen
Wants eleven dollar bills
You only got ten…

— “Subterranean Homesick Blues,” by Bob Dylan

Today would be the perfect day for me to run into the man in the coon-skin cap. It would be his lucky day and mine, because I’ve got 14 one-dollar bills in my wallet.

I don’t think my wallet has ever been this fat, even when they were paying me the “big bucks” back at the newspaper, before someone suddenly asked himself, “Why are we paying this guy all this money to write opinions and get folks all stirred up?” Or something like that. I wasn’t in the room at the time that the realization struck; I just got told about the ramifications.

Anyway, anyone looking at my hip pocket might assume that I’ve really hit it rich with this blog-advertising thing. And it is going well. But not that well.

No, I’m having to sit down lop-sided because of having to park downtown today.

You know, in the abstract, I don’t object to having to pay to park downtown. Parking space is at a premium; it has value. What gets me is the awkward way we have to pay.

I’ve taken to parking in the garage when I get my breakfast in the morning because it’s gotten to be such a hassle remembering to have change on hand to park out on the street. I much prefer parking on the street. It’s not that I’m claustrophobic, but it just runs against the grain to weave around and around inside that crowded concrete box, where you are completely at the mercy of some schmoe in front of you who’s never been in a parking garage in his life, or at least not this one, and hasn’t a clue that there are no unreserved spaces before the fourth level, and who therefore is pausing at every single space to see if it’s available… nope, reserved… nope, reserved… nope reserved… nope…

It’s one of life’s more maddening experiences, right up there with sitting in a meeting, trapped, next to some fiend chewing ice. You know the kind. The kind that lifts the glass to his mouth and rattles it around to get another chunk, then makes a sound like he’s breaking all his teeth, then repeats until the ice is all gone, half an hour later, and then… pour himself another glassful of ice. Which is enough to make you object to the “cruel and unusual punishment” prohibition in the Constitution.

Where was I? Yes… It’s much better, you feel much freer and more flexible if you simply park at a meter, and run out, jump into your vehicle and GO. But that requires carrying change. Periodically, I buy a roll of quarters just to keep in my truck for that purpose, but I’m always running out.

So I’ve started parking in the city garage. And most days, that’s fine. It only costs me a buck.

But today, I only had a 20. Which the lady took, and then gave me a five, and laboriously counted out 14 ones into my hand. I almost dropped them before the transaction was completed.

Seems to me that there ought to be an easier way to do all this. For the rest of my life, plastic works. We should be able to just swipe, or wave our card at a sensor, to pay. Or, if it costs too much to refit all the meters, why don’t we all just pay a parking fee once a year? We could have decals on our cars the way they have in states that actually care about highway safety and require vehicle inspections. And if you’re parked downtown and don’t have a decal, you get a ticket for THAT. Hey, maybe we could even throw in vehicle inspections…

But I’d settle for being able to park downtown without having to have correct change every day of my life.