A reporter I know, Janis Mara, sent me this question today, and I just had to respond.

Yes! I live in the Inner Mission, off Valencia Street, which happens to be the Hipness Epicenter of the hippest city in the hippest country in the hippest planet in the hippest galaxy in the universe. For those of you who aren’t so hip, this means a whole lot of bars and art galleries and restaurants. I just happened to find an apartment here. Within a 1-mile radius, my block is the only one that doesn’t require a parking permit to park over an hour, or doesn’t have 2-hour parking due to being close to a BART station.

Not long ago, I had so many tickets I was finally booted. True, it beat being towed, and it had a faint European air. But it still sucked. I had intended to go down and fight several of my tickets because they were so ridiculous. I had already paid for many of them, and the sticker, and the smog certificate, but still hadn’t paid enough to actually get a registration sticker, because every time I went down to pay they added on more penalties, and I had no more money. It was Catch 22, because I was getting many of these tickets simply for having “out-of-date tags.” And for every ticket I got, I got two, because of the tags. It was, for the meterpeople, as though I had a sign on my car that said, “Two for the price of one.” So they could take their donut break sooner.

One ticket was for not having my wheels curbed on my block, which IS on a hill, but not an insanely steep hill, as San Francisco standards go. That one was particularly nasty, because all that time I was home with a migraine, and I was very careful about making sure my car was parked legally over a period of a few agonizing days…and when I finally came out of my migraine-induced minicoma, I was stunned to discover a ticket on my car. I was certain it was a Chinese menu, but no, it was in fact a ticket, and a painful insult to my already-debilitating neurological injury.

I was also angry about a ticket I received when my car apparently violated the handcrafted painted curb around a residential driveway on Guerrero Street, which was clearly just selfishness on their part, because the painted curb far outsized their actual driveway. I parked there because I’d literally looked everywhere else in the neighborhood and found nothing better, and I was not overhanging their actual driveway at all. I took pictures with my phone (Can you imagine anyone saying that 20 years ago: “I called them right away with my camera …”), but felt so powerless, I let the complaint go. I was too busy trying to make more money.

A friend who visits quite often from San Mateo, who is always very careful about where he puts his vehicle, got four tickets in a row recently, one for not curbing his wheels. He sent in a complaint about that one, since he is not from SF, but his plea was turned down. I doubt if they even looked at it. He is the most upright citizen in the world, in utter dire straits, constantly on the verge of losing his house, and working very hard to make ends meet. It was pathetic, and I don’t currently have the money to help him out, either.

Each time this happens, I feel like I, a long-time resident, a resident who has made numerous cultural and financial contributions to this City, am being pushed out, and I vow to move to Fairfax or Grass Valley or a tiny hamlet in Southern France, where I can pretty much park wherever I want. I even asked about obtaining a handicapped parking permit due to my chronic migraines (so I could park in handicapped spots), but they scoffed at me like I was nuts, because I was under 90 and not in a wheelchair. I told them I felt like I was 90 and momentarily considered obtaining a wheelchair or at least some crutches, and limped away from the counter.

A dear friend who lives in the Castro drove over one evening for a visit. Instead of engaging in this cat-and-mouse game, she just decided to pay to park in the neighborhood City Lot, which has always been very reasonable. Later, I was horrified to hear that just a few hours at my house had cost her eight bucks! She posted this on Facebook when she returned home:

“Parking in a city lot in the Mission: $8. Spending the evening with Caryn Leschen, one of the funniest women in the world: Priceless.”

I wish The City of Hipness felt the same way.