On the parking beat

BY TRACY NEAL

Parking wardens get a bad rap, but it pays to look at the bigger picture: how would you get to park your car in town if those who were there first never budged?

My Mission is to find out what makes a meter maid tick. The first thing I learn is to never call them meter maids.

They are parking wardens or, better still, parking officers, Nelson City Council parking supervisor Karen Robinson corrects me.

Before heading out on the beat, I am armed with the tools of the trade, bulging from a large holster belt I struggle to attach. There is chalk in the front pocket, which also contains a camera, a notebook and a computer gadget, and a printer is in a pocket off to the side.

Once outside, I put on dark glasses and hope that the hat I have been issued with serves as a disguise. Council festival producer Sophie Kelly is the first person I pass. "Hi, Tracy," she says, quizzically.

Parking in the city is subject to enforcement from 8am to 6pm, and, minutes after leaving the council offices, Karen spies the first transgression of the day. The vehicle owner who parked carefully in Wakatu Square has, unfortunately, left his or her parking permit upside down on the dashboard, and is pinged $40 for failing to display a valid permit.

"It can be contested if the owner puts something in writing," Karen concedes.

I've read the voluminous manual on the powers of parking officers, but I don't have a warrant, so I can't issue tickets. Instead, I am taught the art of chalking tyres, and the system that parking officers use to keep tabs on those who run into parking overtime.

Karen instructs me to mark a line of cars that will be checked later. She checks her watch and logs the time.

Like Zorro with chalk, I leave the mark of the parking officer, but I'm largely ignored, even by people sitting in their car as I sign their tyres.

I wonder about the type of risk-taker who has pegged their parking permit to the dashboard with two coloured clothes pegs, which not even a hurricane could budge.

Outside the Bowater Motors workshop off Wakatu Square, we scare a few staff into running out to pay for parking, but it is a bit too late for one, and a $40 infringement fee is handed out to a fleet vehicle, for failing to display a parking permit.

A car immediately behind it is given the same treatment, before Karen notices that it has no current licence (what we call a registration sticker) displayed.

Its owner scores a $200 fine for that.

Karen reckons that the recession has led to an increased number of vehicles not displaying licences.

There's a lot that a parking officer has to know about vehicles, the laws governing their roadworthiness and the law of transportation.

"New trainees spend an intensive couple of weeks in the classroom looking at legislation, how to write a ticket, and then going out and observing the job. This takes between four or five weeks – then you're on your own," Karen says.

In Nelson, there is one fulltime parking officer and three part-timers, who patrol streets as far as the Champion Rd boundary near Richmond.

"We would issue about 60 to 70 tickets a day, and we might get 60 to 70 explanations in a week about why people shouldn't have to pay, but most pay straight away."

Supermarket car parks are a place to avoid unless you're a legitimate grocery shopper. Some are patrolled by independent contract wardens, but people caught out will call the council to complain, Karen says.

"One woman parked in the supermarket car park regularly when she went to the movies, and didn't think that was wrong."

Only an hour into the day, I begin to realise that my boots are not made for walking.

"People will apply for the job saying they like working outdoors, but our day is not like tramping. It's not good walking on concrete all day, and you have to be fit," Karen says.

Back at the office for a tea break, colleagues share stories about the day so far. One is on the phone patiently handling a complaint about a ticket issued for failing to display a licence label. Another, noticeable for her bright lipstick, is artfully applying another coat. "It pays to look nice when you're arguing with someone," she says.

Karen takes a call from someone complaining that their vehicle is trapped by a car in Rutherford St. En route through Montgomery Square, we spot a car parked illegally – its left-hand wheels are up on the footpath and the rest of the car is parked on yellow lines.

Karen writes a ticket while I photograph the evidence, and a large, square man lumbers out from the shadows of the Salvation Army building opposite. "Jason", which, as it turns out, is not his real name. says he is already going to court for threatening "one of our ladies".

He's the type of person you might shift countries to avoid, but gets into his car and starts driving off as Karen is putting the finishing touches on the ticket. She jogs alongside the moving vehicle and slaps the ticket beneath the windscreen wiper.

Jason does a U-turn and parks equally illegally on the other side of the road. Karen follows him, and he responds that perhaps if he had a horse and cart, he could tie it up and we would have to "clean the s... up".

A parking officer develops a certain shield against the abuse hurled at them, but the uniform also acts as a beacon for lost souls seeking directions around town. A surprising number of people smile and are respectful.

Karen says she's become used to the abuse, but it was tough at first. What she can't handle is women crying. "I don't know how to deal with it. I can handle abuse, but not that. I'd deal with a gang member before I'd deal with an irate mother outside the school gate."

She remembers the first time someone called her a "f.....g slut". She bawled, but now it's water off a duck's back. "You have to be mentally tough to do this job, but some situations are quite threatening."

Before I embarked on my day out, my editor told me about the Christchurch parking officer who was thrown into a city river.

Coincidentally, Karen later blithely tells me, in addition to how many times she's been assaulted, about the time she was thrown into the Avon River in Christchurch when she was employed as a parking officer there.

"It was really sad. I'd just had my hair done in a spiral perm, and it's all I could think of. My skirt was wool and I had a big black handbag. It was so heavy I couldn't get out of the river, and then steam started coming out of my radio."

Karen says the man admitted an assault charge in court – and she hadn't even been ticketing his vehicle. "He just didn't like me."

When we finally make it to Rutherford St, we find that someone has nosed their car right up the rear of another, while the back of the car is partially over an entranceway, making it impossible for the complainant to get out.

Karen calls a tow truck, while the owner of the trapped vehicle, Lee Beloe, scratches his head and says the offending vehicle has been parked that way since 8.30am.

The vehicle's owner is issued a $60 ticket and a $52.50 towage fee.

"Once that's done, the owner of the vehicle is charged the fee whether they turn up or not," Karen tells me.

The police are notified that the vehicle is being towed to the yard in Vanguard St.

Back in a central city car park, people scuttle to their cars when they see us coming. "We've done our job if we make them pay. It's a dead giveaway when they look at you and run," Karen says.

It's nearing the end of the day, and Karen has issued 30 tickets, or $1328.50 in infringement fees.

One woman driving along Bridge St pulls into a parking space, sees me and pulls out again, moving to a spot further up the road.

She stares at me staring at her, but it's the vehicle that intrigues me the most – a Morris Minor utility with an interesting number plate.

I can't help myself. "You look like you've something to hide," I say to her. "No," she says. "You have an air of someone who's not quite convincing. The meter ladies are very certain. You're not."

In the financial year to July 1, Nelson parking officers issued 5101 notices worth a total of $317,711. Parking in Richmond is free, but it is patrolled.

Next week: Alice Cowdrey takes a jog down memory lane during an evening back at Brownies.

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