February 2021 – Mike's Life

There I was, sitting in my car and the thought came to me, “What if they just never let me leave the parking garage?”

I came to this life changing question when I was trying to leave a parking garage recently, attempting to pay the whopping $1 fee I had accrued. I pulled my car up to the kiosk just before the arm that blocked the exit.

It told me to insert my ticket. I did. A computery voice said, “Push debit or credit button to pay.”

I scanned over the unit. There were five buttons – three silver ones that had no markings, one marked “Cancel” and one marked “Call for help.”

I pushed the first silver button.

“Push debit or credit button to pay.”

I pushed the second silver button.

“Push debit or credit button to pay.”

I pushed the third silver button.

“Push debit or credit button to pay.”

I looked over the machine again. Maybe I was missing a button? Nothing. I decided to insert my card into the card reader and see if that maybe triggered something to start working.

“Push debit or credit button to pay.”

Ok, time for help, I guess.

I pushed the button. A moment later, a voice came over the speaker. “Can I help you?”

“Yeah, I’m trying to leave the parking garage, and it keeps saying to push the debit or credit button to pay, but there is no such button.”

“Did you insert your card?”

“Yes, and it told me to push the debit or credit button.”

“Did you push the button?”

“There IS NO button.”

“Pull out your card and try again and it should work,” the voice said, and it disconnected.

“Push debit or credit button to pay.”

Sigh. This is now my home, I guess.

I pushed help again. As I waited for the speaker to engage, I noticed a car pull up behind me. This was a single lane exit, so I was blocking the only egress. I leaned out the window and shrugged, pointing at the machine to convey the international sign for “Not my fault but technology’s fault.”

I pushed the help button again.

“Can I help you?”

“Hi, it still won’t let me out. It just keeps saying ‘Push debit or credit button to pay.’ And there is no such button.”

At that point, an ally emerged. I heard a voice from outside my window. “Sir, hang on a second. I’m coming.” I looked up and saw a man wearing a reflective vest approaching my car. I explained the situation to him. He said, “Are you sure the card is good?” I replied, “I am. It’s also a dollar to get out. Can I just give you a dollar in change I have in my car door?”

No time for direct change-based transactions. He pushed the help button.

The voice came back on, and he said, “We have a customer here who cannot get the machine to work, and it’s asking him to push a button that, well, isn’t here.” Vindication.

The speaker and the vest guy had a few back and forths, and then it was decided I needed to back up and try again. He directed the car behind me to back up, and then I backed up, and then approached the machine again. I inserted my ticket.

“Push debit or credit button to pay.”

The speaker crackled. “Hold for a moment. I’ll let him out as a courtesy.”

A few moments later, and the arm lifted. The vest guy told me to go on, and apologized for the issue. Just a hunch that the guy in the car behind me was going to have a similar issue.

But at least I am free of my parking garage prison, and do not have to spend my remaining days, wandering the decks of the garage, contemplating my existence, wondering what went wrong, and quietly mumbling under my breath, “Push debit or credit button to pay.”

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, you can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike.

I froze in my tracks when I saw it. There it was. Perfection that eluded us for so long. I pulled out my phone and took two quick pictures and sent them to my wife. I knew – I just knew! – she would be just as excited as I was about this kitchen trash can on sale at the store.

Perhaps it’s our age. Perhaps it’s a pandemic. Perhaps it’s a combination of things. But we have been on a quest for a new kitchen trash can for a while.

I know what you’re thinking – Mike, why not just go and buy a trash can? Might I remind you it took us about six months to find the perfect bowls (bigger than soup, but smaller than chili, but perfect for, say, Buddha bowls. We both know what we want, and we will definitely not settle.

Also, I’m not saying we are cheap, but I am saying we are not spendthrifts. We don’t buy a lot of things. It’s not our style. We are currently looking at getting a new TV, and I am guessing we will be pulling the trigger on that some time well post-pandemic.

But back to the trash can. The reason we needed a new one is the current one we have was designed by someone who hates us. I do not remember the origins of this trash cans, but I believe it may be when we moved into the house a few years ago, and I made some purchases without supervision. The, I believe, is the last that needed to be corrected. (Previous correction: The horrible microwave that most college dorms would have been ashamed to even have.)

The biggest problem with this trash can is the lid. It is one of those swinging tops you push, revealing the trash can. But for some inexplicable reason, the one has a little indentation right at the lip, about half an inch deep and two inches wide. Dumping out coffee grounds? Why not deposit some in that groove. Scraping our plate after dinner? Maybe some leftover potatoes can fall in there. Emptying the vacuum? Yay, for a little collection of dust and dirt!

But search as we did, we just couldn’t find the right trash can. And we certainly were not about to pay $200 for one. And if any of you have a $200 trash can, I’m not judging you. I don’t get to spend your money. That’s solely your call. But I do get to spend our money, and oooooh, boy. I would not want to see the look on her face if I bought that. Messing up and buying a $29 microwave is one thing.

This trash can was well within the price range we had set, and there were probably a dozen left. My wife did not immediately respond to the text, and anyone who knows me knows how good I am at being patient. (Hint: Bad.)

I got the items I needed and headed home. When I got there, I asked my wife if she had seen the pictures. She had just seen them, and said, “What are the dimensions?” I said, “It was … trash can … size?”

Because my wife is good like this, she said. “Our current one is 10 and a half inches by 17 inches. I’d like to get the same size, so if it is, let’s get it.”

I didn’t head back to the store until the next day, but I am glad I did, as there was but one trash can left. It was a miracle.

OK, maybe that’s a little strong of a statement. But it sounds better that “it was supply and demand and retail economics and product placement marketing doing what it does.”

So far so good, on the new trash can, which even has a fancy sensor you can wave your hand over it to open. (A feature, I noticed, is NOT on the $200 model. So there.)

Now that we have this purchase over, I guess we focus on the television. And the most important part, if my calculations are correct, the moment that bad boy arrives is the moment we know the pandemic is done!

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, you can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike.