Obnoxious Teens Vs. Parking Enforcement: Who Will Win???

Living in West Hollywood, my neighborhood is routinely patrolled by parking enforcement officers, who quietly stalk their prey from the comfort of their white, eco-friendly Priuses — waiting for that orgasmic moment when they can slap a ticket down on a permit-lacking vehicle and tow it away. Their Orwellian presence rivals a godlike power to be everywhere and nowhere all at once, and should you find yourself on the wrong side of their unflinching Maglites, you’ll soon be treated to a stiff fine and a towing charge. It’s because of this that residents and visitors alike tend to view parking enforcement with a measure of disdain. Like an army of money-eating pests, they never go away, and sooner or later, they get you.
Occasionally though, my friends and I find ourselves siding with parking enforcement. While I’d like to think that no one deserves the hassle of being towed away, truth is that it’s also perversely glorious watching the bridge-and-tunnel folk descend on the nearby Sunset Strip and try to park in front of our apartment building, arrogantly thinking they can park their dumb car just ANYWHERE without checking the signs first. Trust me when I say it never gets old watching these people’s stunned reactions upon return to the empty spot that used to hold their car. Just this past weekend, my friends and I enjoyed the sight (from our balcony) of one shirtless, long-haired, drunken fool stumbling up and down the street, bemoaning the sad fate that had befallen his now-missing car. “Duuuuude, I got towed!!!” he lamented to no one in particular, his long frizzy hair flowing in all directions like Troy Polamalu after a roller coaster ride. This continued for a few minutes until his buddy picked him up and ferreted him off to who knows where — hopefully Supercuts. This cruel turn of events was nothing short of hilarious for us as we watched yet another douchebag fall victim to The System. Of course, he was probably too drunk to drive anyway; so the towing was good in many ways.
Still, watching one idiot get his just desserts is never enough. We always want more; so imagine our thrill when moments after the drunken troll doll departed, two new teenage douchebags pulled up and parked their red mustang without even checking the parking rules. Surely parking enforcement would have their way with them…

Yes, as the three of us — J-Unit, me, and our friend Tobin — drank beers on the apartment balcony and watched from above, two teenagers speaking a language neither of us could really understand (sounded like Persian) pulled up in a tacky, red Mustang and proceeded to blab very loudly about who knows what (again, language barrier). We could see them riffling through cash, almost as if they were counting, and then after further loud discussion, they walked away from their car and up towards the Sunset Strip, sure to dazzle everyone with their shiny, patterned t-shirts and slicked back hair. The time was 1:01 AM exactly.
Based on the direction they were headed and their curious cash-counting activities, we decided they were headed to The Body Shop, the resident strip club on The Strip. Besides, who in Los Angeles goes to a bar at 1:00 AM? Last call is like twenty minutes later. The Body Shop, however, would still be open for several more hours. Yes, these guys were sitting ducks for some prime towing action.

Dead car walking. Er, dead car parked. Or rather, parked car… parked. You know what I’m trying to say…

Immediately, the betting commenced, Price Is Right style. How long before the Mustang gets towed? Tobin went for the somewhat conservative time of 1:31 AM. J-Unit opted for 1:42 AM. Both times were ridiculously too generous. Didn’t they even know what parking enforcement was capable of? Those vultures would be comin’ around the corner in five minutes, tops; so I took 1:02 AM.
It was on.

A red mustang? It’s just embarrassing.

Note: no hanging visitor’s pass.

No parking decals on the front…

…or the back.

The three of us sat on the balcony and waited. And waited. And waited. Every damn car that sped down the street caused us to crane our necks in anticipation, but alas, parking enforcement was nowhere to be seen.
At 1:31AM, I had to bow out of the competition as my time on the clock had expired. Now it was Tobin’s turn. Again, nothing. We started coming up with theories: anyone who was coming to the Strip had surely already arrived prior to 1:00 AM; so the street wasn’t a high priority destination for parking enforcement as all necessary towings had probably occurred. How else to explain the veritable drought of authority?

Still there…

At 1:42 AM, Tobin officially bowed out of the competition, meaning that by elimination; J-Unit had won the bet. The thrill of winning, however, had been completely undermined with a growing sense of anxiety. Would this sure thing — like the 2007 New England Patriots — end in nothing more than an anticlimactic disappointment?
Well, Tobin eventually left as he was fatigued, and soon after, J-Unit also turned in. I wasn’t going to let this go. I needed some closure on this situation. Parking enforcement had to come. It was their job! And since when did an entire hour pass without the slightest hint of their presence? I was half tempted to just make a report, but no, I couldn’t be THAT guy. That’s just too awful. Plus, it would have taken the fun/torture out of the situation.
Finally, at around 2:30 AM, a white Prius surfaced on the street below, and my heart skipped with excitement. At last, here was the cosmic justice I had been so obsessively seeking. OR WAS IT? Turns out it was just a regular white Prius, not a parking enforcement white Prius. If I could have gone down to the street and strangled the car by its neck Homer Simpson style, I would have. I was in too sensitive a state for such a fake-out.
At this point, I retired to my room, but thankfully, my window still looks out upon the street, and so I could still monitor the goings-on while surfing the Internets and working on my writing as well. I continued this until about 3:30 AM when I heard the familiar sound of loud, obtrusive squawking echoing throughout the street below. That’s right. The teens were back. For two and a half hours, parking enforcement was completely absent, and so without even realizing the massive bullet they had just dodged, the kids hopped into their Mustang and drove off into the night. Damn.