Through my eyes

I hesitate to tell you this, but I’m going to relate a rather

embarrassing, personal story.

Frankly, I’m not happy confirming my stupidity and selfishness to the

community by sharing this discomforting experience, but do so with the

hope that some might learn from my regrettable mistake.

Last June, I came into possession of 22 feet of rolling holiday heaven

in the form of a 1986 mini-motor home. My stepfather passed away late

last March, and my mother asked me to help her out by selling this

six-wheeled beauty. So, being the kind, dutiful son I am, I brought this

vacation-in-a-vehicle to Huntington Beach and immediately advertised it

for sale, which I expected would take place in short order.

Unfortunately, our home doesn’t have a driveway and our alley wouldn’t

accommodate the beast, so I parked it on the street, in front of the

house.

You just haven’t lived until you’ve experienced the joys of looking

out your front window onto a 22-foot wall of faded beige, orange and

brown aluminum, decorated with a few antennas, racks and a roof air

conditioner. It makes my heart race just thinking about it.

After a couple of weeks, I’d had about the same number of bites on my

advertisement as I’ve had suggestions adopted by the city of Huntington

Beach, so I decided to reduce the price. (In an increasing effort to have

my suggestions adopted by the city of Huntington Beach, I now write them

in crayon on a brown, paper bag.)

At about the same time, and bolstered by my unswerving belief that

this rolling-residence would sell momentarily, I elected to share this

delightful visual experience with my neighbors by parking this

blight-at-a-bargain down the street and around the corner. At the time,

I’d foolishly convinced myself that the relocation of this relic-retreat

in that area was OK because a number of other motor homes were parked on

the same street in the same area.

Unfortunately, I was about as accurate predicting the sale of this

wonder-on-wheels as I am at predicting the outcome of Huntington Beach

City Council meetings. In short, the beast didn’t sell. Consequently I

found myself moving it on street sweeping days, absolutely oblivious to

what I was doing to my neighbors.

If you’re anticipating a story of comeuppance, keep reading.

Last week, as had become my routine, I grabbed the keys and headed off

to move the vacation-vagabond for street sweeping. As I rounded the

corner, my eyes grew to the size of hubcaps as I gazed at the empty space

previously occupied by my mother’s 22 feet of parked paradise. For a

moment, I thought perhaps it had been stolen, but it soon dawned on me

that this toad had been towed.

Sure enough, a neighbor had complained -- I know, I was dumbfounded

too -- that the motor home was violating an ordinance prohibiting 72

hours of continuous parking at the same spot. As a result, the police had

the tires marked and eventually saddled that baby to a tow truck where it

was carted off to a detention center for malevolent motor homes. I soon

learned that I was staring at paying the Police Department a $50 release

fee and $395 to the towing company. Ouch!

When things like this happen, one is tempted to blame someone else,

such as the neighbor who complained, or the cops who had the vehicle

towed, or even the tow yard. People just don’t like to take

responsibility for their own acts.

But, I blew it. And I don’t mind saying so publicly if it serves as an

apology to the neighbors I offended and a way for others to learn by my

mistake.

The neighbors had every right to complain, and the cops would have

been shirking their duty if they hadn’t yanked the vehicle off the

street.

I feel a whole lot better having publicly aired my dirty laundry and

expressing my regret. Now, if I can just figure out what I’m going to do

with that darned boat.

* RON DAVIS is a private attorney who lives in Huntington Beach. He

can be reached by e-mail at o7 RDD@socal.rr.com.f7