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City Life

Downtown's parking rule: Feed thy meter before feeding thyself

By SANDRA THOMPSON
Published February 26, 2005

This week I met someone downtown for lunch at Spain, the restaurant on Tampa Street. I circled around the one-way streets a few times and pulled into a prime space, a half block from the restaurant on Twiggs. The meter sported a bright yellow warning: Parking is $1.50 an hour.

Yes, $1.50! I would have been outraged, but I already knew it.

Even at this usurious rate, it's not the price that hurts. It's the quarters. An hour lunch - with a half-hour of cushioning time - means you have to have nine quarters.

Who has nine quarters on their person at any given time?

Actually, I stash quarters in my car just in case I feel the urge to go downtown in the daylight, but I used them all last weekend to buy Pepsis at an Interbay pool vending machine. I had one quarter and a few dimes and nickels in my wallet. I plugged them all in. The meter moved infinitesimally on a nickel. I had 20 minutes.

I walked down Tampa Street looking for a place where I wouldn't be sneered at asking someone to give me change between 12 and 1, when all of Tampa eats lunch. First Watch was slammed, so I passed it up.

A meter maid walked by.

A man standing outside the Old Tampa Book Company was looking at books in carts on the sidewalk. I crossed over. All the books displayed outside were $1. Great! I'd pick one up, then ask for change. Maybe this is neurotic, but I always feel there's something shameful about asking for change in a place where you're not buying anything. And in the case of this particular store, I already had a reason to feel ashamed.

But I didn't see a book I liked and was running out of time, so I went inside.

"I meant to buy a book," I said, lamely, to one of the owners who handed me four quarters.

As I walked back to the meter, I passed the same meter maid.

I put my four quarters in the meter and walked back to Spain. My lunch partner was not there. I glanced at my cell phone. No message.

Five minutes later he came rushing in, red-faced, sweat flying, talking on fast forward. He had to drive around forever until he found a parking spot, and then he didn't have enough quarters! We compared meter time allotments and determined we each had 45 minutes for lunch. After that our cheap lunch could go up 25 bucks.

I looked at my watch at the 30-minute mark. We were talking about the future of downtown - I am not making this up - when I checked my watch again.

"We're five minutes over!" I said, and we both raced out of the restaurant.

As he ran off down the block, he called back, "Next time let's eat at a restaurant with a parking lot!"

My meter had expired but no ticket. I put in two quarters I got at Spain and walked back to the Old Tampa Book Company.

My plan was to go through the fiction from A to Z.

I only got to "K."

My meter time was up.

I paid for two hardcovers, a B and a D.

"Don't these parking regulations hurt your business?" I asked the owners.

Yes they do, was their answer.

On weekdays, people working downtown can walk over, said Ellen Brown, one of the owners. Everyone else comes on Saturday. Come this weekend, she suggested. They're open Saturday, today, from 11 to 5. Next weekend is the Gasparilla Festival of the Arts, so they'll open Saturday and Sunday.

I have gone to used book stores in New York, Washington, D.C., Sarasota - whenever I see one in another city. I'm intimidated by the megastores like the Strand in New York; I look for small bookstores where the owners know every title.

The Old Tampa Book Company is exactly that kind of store.

It has been on Tampa Street for 10 years. I knew it was there.

But until Wednesday I had never been inside.

Sandra Thompson, a Tampa writer, can be reached at sandrathompson1@mac.com City Life appears on Saturday.

[Last modified February 26, 2005, 01:14:15]