Further Adventures in Car Ownership Borrowing

It was bound to happen eventually. After the Chicken Grease Incident of Aught Eight, my grandmother's car has suffered another injustice.

Its first parking ticket.

Which would have been fine if I'd forgotten about street cleaning, or if I'd left the car parked in a resident spot downtown. But it was just sitting in what I thought was a perfectly legal spot at the top of my street. When I'd parked it yesterday, I noticed it was a little close to the crosswalk, but moved it up later that night.

Apparently, I didn't shift forward far enough. When I went to get the car this afternoon, it had the bright orange ticket on the windshield. It accused me of parking within 20 feet of an intersection.

Not to sound like an entitled brat, but this is total B.S., Somerville. People park in that spot all the time and don't get ticketed. Twenty feet would put me halfway down the block. And it's not like my place is in a big intersection—there's plenty of room for cars to navigate. Is it my out-of-state plates? Some bored cop decided to make a quick buck on my dwindling dollars?

Sigh. Just another expense for my unemployed ass.