The manically grinning ticket machine

After an uneventful trip to Ikea, I was reminded of a visit a few years ago that was more eventful and searched the archives for my thoughts on that visit:

Having purchased an immoderate quantity of raw pickled fish, I left Ikea, and unusually, remembered to remove the parking ticket from my wallet, before sitting upon it, and thus negating the awkwardness of extricating it at the barrier . With the aforementioned ticket held at the corner by my teeth, I approached the spiral of the exit ramp at a reckless pace and for once finding it clear of drivers who value paintwork above the thrill of a helta-skelta, plummeted with reckless abandon. I straightened at the bottom, and hit the window button as I coasted genteelly in close to the ticket machine and nonchalantly proffered my ticket to the mouth of the receptacle. It was at this point that my impressive exit went awry; the course of events were altered by the damp corner of a piece of cardboard, as the ticket instead of sliding smoothly into the machine, held fast and buckled. As I released, it flexed and catching the breeze, skipped down the verge. Fixated by the errant piece of cardboard that signified freedom from this suddenly oppressive structure, I tried to exit the vehicle only to find I was penned in by the manically grinning ticket machine. Quickly I reversed the car, mouthing an apology to the first of the growing queue, leapt from the car and chased the errant voucher,that gamboled in the breeze; a simple printed receipt that had gained it’s freedom at the expense of mine. I entered into a less than dignified stamping dance and eventually regained mastery over that piece of paper, then returned to my car, much subdued and bereft of the erstwhile feeling of superiority; taken from me by a small rectangle of recycled tree pulp.

Down To The Wood

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