Playing ‘Dodge the Deputies’

From my somewhat, semi-ongoing series about my sordid adventures in Virginia City, I have a doozy of a tale to tell.

At some point between 11 a.m. and 11:30 a.m., I suddenly had trouble finding a spot to park along the boardwalk to deliver newspapers to the Virginia City Tourism Commission. Seeing the truck with the Colorado tags parked in the 15-minute-only parking green zone, I continued south on C Street to drop papers elsewhere, thinking the vehicle would soon be gone.

Finding a parking spot along the narrow street can be a bit of a premium on busy days, as was Friday morning. Speeding up and down C Steet, not so much.

After fifteen-plus minutes, I returned to find the truck still parked there. So, doing what I have done before, leaving my truck running, I put it in neutral, set the parking brake, and turned on my flashers, double-parking.

Grabbing the needed papers, I dashed inside the building, dropping them off, only to exit two of  the county’s finest, preparing to write me a traffic ticket, the third interaction regarding newspaper deliveries I have had with the agency since Friday, August 11, 2023.

Before I knew it, one of the good old boys was dressing me down for double parking, where he told me sternly and in no uncertain terms that it was a no-no. I pointed out that I was delivering newspapers and unable to find a nearby parking spot, and then proceeded to point out the truck that was beyond its time limit.

“I don’t wanna talk about that truck, I wanna talk to you about double parking in the street,” the young tinhorn told me.

Two can play at the game, so I pointed out the truck again, the speeders, and the fact that UPS and FedEx, not to mention all the beer trucks double parking to deliver. And yup, I got loud and proud about it.

Then, he informed me about their staff shortage, preventing them from addressing what I had addressed. It is odd how one cannot open social media without images of newbies taking the fraternal oath, left and right.

“We’re doing our best to take care of that,” he said.

Happily, I didn’t get a ticket, and while driving away, I checked my rearview mirror. There, I witnessed as the camera-endowed bubble-gum machine followed me, completely ignoring the now-unlawfully parked truck parked in the fifteen-minute-only green zone.

For the remainder of the day, driven by exasperation, I tried to think of a way to describe the situation. It wasn’t until after a cold one at the Tahoe House that I produced this gem: “Any law unequally yoked is justice denied.”

Say, that’s pretty good — I might have a future in the newspaper business after all.