Hooked Up

Went to Manhattan in my Malibu to run a few errands and pick up tickets at Lincoln Center for I don't remember what, but it was symphonic. No parking all around. No problem, right?

Put the vehicle in a loading zone near the backstage service area and took off around the corner some 50 yards to the box office up a set of stairs. Inside of ten minutes all done deal. Turned the corner and the car was disappeared. A very helpful patrolman told me to get hence to Pier 76.

Having spent all my cash on the ducats, had to call Papa for to float an issue.

"You knucklehead."

Resistance was futile.

We get together at the pier. At the time, the fine was probably $50 and the storage 25. So he's ready to lay out. Then, in a moment, he, a squeaky-clean NYPD detective in this scenario where tow operations are administered by the police, flashes his shield at the desk sergeant at the ledger. I certainly didn't ask and absolutely didn't expect anything of the sort.

"Can you give my idiot son a break?"
"Um not seein'." reflexed the sarge.

Papa embarrassed. I'm frozen. Totally clammed.
Paid him back pronto. Never said a word. Understood completely.