Whangarei parking wardens are verbally abused every day, their boss of Environmental Northland (Enl) told me. If I see a $10 infringement flapping on my windscreen, I'm only angry at myself.
This day, I pay my $2 to park at Dent St. The sun shines as I smugly stroll to work.
At 5pm, I haul my laptop, handbag and jacket out the door, cursing the changeable weather and clutching a large box of goodies that I ordered online.
The 5-minute stroll turns into a 10-minute resentful shuffle.
Standing at the traffic lights I stare at the Before I Die wall erected on the grass at Dent St.
"I'd like to cross the road," I murmur.
Cars zoom, lights are still green.
I arrive at the car park, now full of watery potholes and angry CBD minions like myself.
We curse our way to our cars, splashing about as a line of traffic forms behind the car park.
Then, we must turn left and shuffle to the back of the traffic queue.
The weight of it all makes us stay in bed an extra few minutes each morning. As we snuggle into blankets like worms tunnelling into dirt, early birds are nabbing the free spaces before 7.30am.
"It's not as bad as Auckland," they say.
Yes, but Aucklanders earn more than us - a compensation for the inconvenience.
I join the traffic queue, my shoulder sore, my toes wet, my self-righteousness and dignity as soggy as my shoes.
