The apartment complex where I live has assigned parking, and they are super strict about it. The assigned spaces are random, so your spot could be right in front of your door or all the way across the complex.

They also have a strict towing policy. Residents cannot privately tow anyone’s car, and if they do, they can be evicted. The rule is that you have to contact the office and get the manager, and the manager phones the tow company. The manager is the only one with the secret code; that way no one who lives there can tow someone willy-nilly pretending to be her. It sucks because if the office is closed, you have to wait until morning to tow the person’s car when the office opens, and they’re closed on the weekends, which leads a lot of people to lose their space for a weekend if they leave home for anything.

There are also very, very few visitor spaces.

The rules are in our leases. There are also signs that explain them and state that violators will be towed at owner’s expense, and the cost of getting your car out is $500 flat.

I just moved in, and within a week, I come home from work to find a car in my spot. Since there’s no way to tell whose car this is, and there are no visitors spots for me to park in, I have to do the thing. I go to the office, talk to the manager, and give her the license plate, and she calls.

Within thirty minutes, the driver is there hooking up the car. My parents were coming by to help me move some stuff anyway, so we chat while I wait to pull my car in. There’s a man walking into the complex with some groceries who sees the tow happening and starts chatting with us, too. I tell him I just moved in. He seems friendly until he looks at my parking space and frowns.

Man: “Oh, that’s your spot now? That’s a shame. We always tell guests to park there since nobody’s owned that spot in years.”

Me: “Oh… Well, yes, unfortunately, it was assigned to me now. I feel bad for the inconvenience to someone, but rules are rules, and I need to be able to park.”

Man: “Well, at least it’s not my car!”

He laughs as the tow truck driver finishes loading the car. My stepfather speaks hesitantly.

Stepfather: “Uh… Does anyone in your unit have a white SUV?”

Man: *Pales* “My mom does…”

We all turn to watch the car being driven away on the tow truck. The man panics and runs to his apartment, which is only a few doors away from mine, and starts yelling.

Man: “Mom! They’re towing your car!”

A woman in her mid-sixties or so comes running out, screaming, “WHAT?”, over and over. It’s February and very cold, but she ran out here in shorts and a tank top with the quickness.

I was going to apologize, but then she whips around and starts laying into me.

Man’s Mom: “WHAT THE F*** IS WRONG WITH YOU?! How could you do this to me?! That’s so wrong! You can’t do this to me! You aren’t allowed to do this!”

She starts wailing that she’s a guest here and her son told her to park there. Then, she changes her story through her screaming and says they’ve lived here for years and no one’s ever said anything about where they park. Her son turns to me and starts yelling, too.

Man: “How could you do this?! My mom can’t afford to get her car back! You should’ve knocked on people’s doors to find the owner and politely ask them to move!”

I’m a twenty-one-year-old woman, I just moved in, and I live alone.

Me: “I’m not comfortable going door to door and asking every single person in this complex if they’ve parked in my spot. I’m sorry for the trouble, but I followed the rules.”

The guy takes a few paces toward me, and that’s when my stepfather steps in.

Stepfather: “Just walk away, man. If you guys have lived here forever, like your mom says, then you were made aware of the parking rules when you moved in. If she’s a guest, this is on you for telling your mom to park in a numbered spot knowing the risks.”

The man and his mom were still screaming at us by the time my mom and I ascended the stairs to my apartment. My stepfather came in a few minutes later, saying the man’s mother had stomped down the path to the manager’s building next door. At that point, the office was closed, but we could see her from my window banging on the glass doors and screaming about the injustice of it all. We went about unpacking my apartment and shaking our heads about the whole thing.

I never heard from the man or his mother again, but I saw the man occasionally walking home with his groceries. He ignored me the rest of the time I lived there.

A buddy of mine is a tow operator. He got called out to assist the driver of an eighteen-wheeler who had miscalculated a turn and was now stuck in the mud.

Tow Operator: “Are you loaded?”

Trucker: “Yeah, as full as it gets.”

Tow Operator: “Dang. What’s your weight?”

Trucker: “Five tons.”

Tow Operator: “Wait, only five tons?”

Trucker: “Yep.”

Top Operator: “Are you loaded with pillows or what?”

Trucker: “Yep, got it in one guess.”

I work for a towing company. It is during the heat of the summer when it’s about 108 degrees (42C). I get a call from a woman.

Caller: “You need to come by with a lockout kit as I’ve locked my keys in the car.”

Me: “Can you give me your location?”

Caller: “It’s [location]. Oh, and by the way, my baby is in there, so can you hurry?”

Me: “No, ma’am. I’ll report you to the police if I don’t hear a brick go through a window in the next thirty seconds.”

Caller: “Well, if you hurry, I won’t need to do that.”

I ended up calling the fire department, who got there in a couple of minutes. I also called the police.

Related:
Call… The… Police, Part 2
Call… The… Police

(I am working as a desk worker for a vehicle impound company. I have a male coworker who stays in the office to keep me safe and to actually go and get the cars, so that I stay safely behind the wall.)

Me: “Hi there. Can I help you?”

Customer: *angrily* “Yeah, I’m here to get my truck you stole.”

Me: “Alright, I just need the vehicle information. VIN number, make, model, and color.”

Customer: “Yeah, it’s [VIN number].”

Me: “Alright, here it is.”

(I print out the statement of charges and take them to the window.)

Me: “So, here’s a breakdown of your charges: your total is [price], and I’ll need to see proof of ownership and a photo ID.”

Customer: “WHAT?! I’m not paying that! This is bulls***! You guys f***ing stole my truck, and you expect me to pay to get it back?!”

Me: “Sir, I must ask you to refrain from swearing at me. It says here your car was towed because your registration expired over a year ago. I’m sorry, but I can’t release your vehicle to you without this fee.”

Customer: “F*** you! How the f*** do you expect people to afford this s***?!”

Me: “Sir, please calm down. If you can’t afford it today, I have to inform you that it’ll continue to go up by [cost] every day until you can.”

(At this point, he lunges through the iron bars and grabs my wrist. My male coworker jumps up, but I manage to pull away. The man takes off out of the office. My coworker watches him out of the window.)

Coworker: “If he comes back, stand back a little. He does that again, just duck.”

(Sure enough, the customer comes back about an hour later. He seems calmer, but my coworker still stands up and grabs one of the many baseball bats he keeps throughout the office building. He stands off to the left of the window, out of sight of the man.)

Customer: “Alright, how f***ing much is it again?”

Me: “Sir, please refrain from swearing. Here’s your price breakdown.”

(I hand him the statement and he looks over it, getting more agitated.)

Customer: “What the f*** does all this s*** mean? You motherf***ers are trying to rob me blind! No one could afford this! You’re all a bunch of f***ing* thieves!”

(At this point, he reaches through the bars again, almost touching his face to the bars. I jump back, and my coworker swings the titanium bat, smacking against the bars and making a horrendous ringing sound.)

Coworker: “You get out—now! Or next time, it’ll be your head!”

Customer: *reeling* “Oh yeah, tough guy?! Come on out here and say that!”

(My coworker heads for the door separating the office from the customer area. As he opens it, the customer sees my coworker, all 6’1″, 250 lbs of pure muscle that he is, and takes off out the door, into the car with whoever was driving him, and they peel out of the parking lot. As far as I know, he never came back for his truck.)