Fast Idle

Every now and again, I get a letter that has a little dig in it about driving in California. Usually very subtle, they go something like’Too bad your cars wear out so quickly from being driven all year1 or “The reason that there are relatively few cherry MGAs in California must be that you folks can’t work on them in the winter like we can.” Well, all is not sweetness and light on the Left Coast We have our own set of driving hazards.

Some of them are the usual big city hazards of piloting an MGA, like being invisible to the twelve ton buses or getting bounced out of the car whenever you hit an inner-city street crater. Some are peculiar to California, like getting sunburned in February because though you knew that it was nice enough to put your top down, you didn’t realize it was going to reach 87 today. And some are San Francisco’s own. The classic in this category is to come up a hill in the dry sunshine, go over its top into wet fog, try to stop at the next comer, and slide into the intersection on the wet cable car tracks.

But the biggest nuisance, especially in San Francisco, is parking. And it isn’t always just finding a place to park, either. The other day I left my car in a parking garage while a friend and I went to do some shopping. We weren’t gone for very long and as usual it seemed to take longer to pack the MG than to buy the stuff. Finally we headed out to the attendant’s booth. I gave him the parking stub.

“That’ll be a dollar twenty-five.”

I pulled out my wallet and discovered that I only had a twenty, so I handed it to him.

“Sorry, I don’t have that much change. You’ll have to go upstairs and get some change.”

No way am I going to back down the garage ramp, repark the car, go upstairs three levels to a shop, have them break a twenty, come back down, and end up paying for additional parking. I suggested that he should get the change. since it was reasonable that he should be able to make change for a twenty, especially on a Saturday morning.

“Nope, I’m not allowed to leave the booth and no one else is working this morning.”

OK. Wait a minute, here. Along with assorted pens, pencils, candy bar wrappers and the like, the MGA’s doors hold a lot of change for bridge tolls and parking meters. Just let me rummage through here a minute… Here we go: three quarters, a dime, four nickels and twenty pennies. There!

“I can’t accept all those pennies. Sorry.”

Wait a minute, I say, what do you mean, you can’t accept pennies? They’re regular US of A In God We Trust money. What’s wrong with them?

“It’s the rules. We aren’t allowed to accept pennies. The bank only takes them if they’re rolled up.

Well, roll them up then. That isn’t my problem, that’s yours. The pennies are legal tender. You don’t have any choice about taking them.

“Nope. Pennies are only for paying taxes and odd amounts. I don’t have to take any pennies for a dollar twenty-five.”

Pennies are not only for taxes. They are for anything, and we don’t have any other change in the car. Besides, it’s a state law that a merchant must accept coins for payment, up to fifty of each kind of coin. You have to take the pennies.

“I’m not supposed to take pennies. It’ the rules.”

Where’s the manager? I’d like to talk to the manager about this and see just how inflexible these rules are.

“Boss isn’t here today. I’m it.”

I’ll say. Hey, look at this temperature gauge. My car is going to fry if you just keep us sitting here.

“Too bad. No pennies, I can’t take pennies. Go on upstairs for some change.”

No, I think I’ll switch off the car and wait here. There. Why don’t you go get the change that you should have had in the first place?

“I can’t leave the booth. Hey, people are starting to back up behind you.”

I’ve got all day, now. You know, it really is a law that you have to take up to fifty of any sort of coin, even pennies.

“No way. I’m not supposed to— it’s the rules.”

I guess we sit until someone comes to relieve you, then. .

By this time there are about hall a dozen cars behind us and people are starting to honk. My friend volunteers to go get the necessary change, but I refuse to even consider. We sit a while, and then see a cop go by. I decide to go out and flag him down to see if he can convince the attendant to accept the pennies.

Hey, Officer!

“Yes?

The parking attendant in this garage and I have a problem that we can’t seem to resolve. He won’t accept my money because I want to pay him in coins.

“Let’s go see the attendant. Why won’t you take this man’s money?”

“I’m not allowed to take pennies. It’s the rules.”

Officer, there is a state law that a merchant must accept coins for payment, up to fifty of each denomination. There’re only twenty pennies here.

“Just a moment.”

The cop had evidently never heard of the law, because he went outside to use his radio as if he was going to check. At least everyone stopped honking when they saw the cop. After a minute or two, he got back on the radio, and then came back to the parking attendant’s booth.

“Gentleman’s right You have to take the money.”

I dumped the coins on the guy’s counter, and then went back to each of the cars lined up behind the  MG.Then I got back into the MGA, and drove under the barricade while the attendant was still complaining to the cop. What did you say to all those people, my friend wanted to know. Did you apologize to them?

Not exactly. I told them that the trouble was that the guy didn’t have enough change. I also said that he especially needed pennies…

Reprinted by permission of MGA Magazines NAMGAR.

By Mike Jacobsen