Sam and I drove out to the Tassanoxie Municipal Airport last weekend to see an airplane his friend had bought. As many of you know, Tassanoxie’s a small town in Alabama. So I’m talking small airport with a terminal, some hangers, and a runway.
Imagine my surprise to see a little black and white rectangle that said “thirty minute parking” painted on the curb. I looked around the parking lot. Somebody had done stuck those little bitty notices on half the parking spaces. Sixteen spaces were forever parking while the rest allowed half an hour parking.
We’re way out in the country. Nary a business in sight. Exactly what kind of parking rush do these guys get?
“Shall I set a timer?” I asked.
Sam looked at me blankly. “What for?”
“So we’ll know when to come back and move the car to another parking spot.” I gestured toward the front of the car.
Sam read the sign and then looked around. There were four cars in the lot. “I don’t think we’re gonna have to worry about that.”
I’m one of those people who feels if you make a rule, you should enforce it. “If parking’s not a problem out here, why’d someone paint all those little notices?”
Sam opened his car door. “Come on, Mabel. We’re here to see Justin’s new plane, not fuss about the city painting the curbs.”
I waited until we’d admired Justin’s airplane before I asked him. “Does the airport do a lot of business during the week? You know, filling up the parking lot.”
“I’ve been coming out here for years and I’ve only seen that parking lot fill up on the weekends we have the Air Expo.”
Since the city got involved in the Air Expo after my retirement, I never covered one for the paper. But I do know they only happen once a year.
I’m not sure what bright butt city employee came up with this idea, or which higher up bright butt city employee approved it. I’m of half a mind to come out here, mark the cars in the limited spaces and then after thirty minutes call the cops. Wonder how long those curbside notices would last then.