Vehiclearance

Vehicle.
Clearance.
Vehiclearance.

Yesterday, I went to where I had parked my car to find that my car wasn't parked there.

That's one of the worst feelings there is.

Sadness.
Especially.
Sadnespecially.

Other than suicidality, non-suicidal yet severe psychological depression, less severe but still habitual fairly debilitating depression, stubbing your toe really hard, and probably some others I'm not thinking of right now... Add your own!
(Either in your own head, in the comments section, or both!
And if you can do it in the comments section without doing it in your own head, bravo.)

Mental.
Talking.
Mentalking.

My car had been parked legally, so I called 311 (the information line, not the defunct band).

311 is just like 411 information, but only for a specific type of information. Which makes sense, because it's 100 less than 411.
(So if you have an emergency but you don't want as much help as possible, call 811.)

Emergency.
See Ya?
Emergencee Ya?

311 told me that they had no record of my car being towed.
Normally that's good news, to hear that your car hasn't been towed.
But when your car is gone, it's slightly more not good news.

I now found myself praying that my car HAD been towed, and there was just no record of it yet. (Some sort of vigilante cop towing but not doing the paperwork? A citizen tow-er?*

Vigilante.
Antidote.
Vigilantidote.

Long story (told by a) short (person):

After several more calls to 311, being connected to the ninth precinct of Manhattan which had jurisdiction over the region from which my car went missing, being disconnected from the ninth precinct, walking to the wrong location of the ninth precinct given to me by cops from another precinct while trying to get the ninth precinct back on the phone, eventually reaching them on the phone before I reached the wrong location of the ninth precinct and having a ninth precinct cop tell me the best thing to do would be to go back to where the car went missing from and call 911 and wait, meeting the 911 cops when they finally showed up and learning they were from the ninth precinct, those cops told me to meet them back at the CORRECT location of the ninth precinct.

That's where they said they could check lists of cars that had been moved (but not officially towed--vigilante cops, I was right! but there were lists, so official vigilante cops).

It turned out there had been a street fair in between when I parked and yesterday, and there had been no signs posted about it, so the cops just moved my car down a long block and around the corner.

Did you know they do that? They can just move your car. And you don't have to pay to get it out of a lot or anything, and it wasn't stolen; you just find it nearby and drive it away. Fascists!**

So all's well that started crappy.

Failures.
Resolution.
Failuresolution.


* Pronounced toe-er. Not like the word that follows "Eiffel."
(Though perhaps the citizen tow-er would bring the car to his tall citadel of unofficial justice, the Citizen Tower.
Which is the renamed Eiffel Tower which has been commandeered for this purpose.)

Eiffel.
Felony.
Eiffelony.


** Is that the definition of fascism? It's cool to say cops are fascists, right? Even when they eventually help you?

My apologies. Hooray, cops! Also, I didn't see any of them eating any donuts. Not really fascist, not many donuts... we're breaking down cop stereotypes left and right! If only I was a different race that is usually mistreated by the law, then this prejudice-dismantling trifecta would be complete.

Gallantry.
Trifecta.
Gallantrifecta.