Long story with a brief point.

Yesterday I went to get my car inspected. At least that was what I left the house to do, since inspection is due in about two and a half weeks and we were going to be out of town next week. However, on my way over to the wonderful DC inspection center I sort of figured out that the car probably wouldn't pass inspection with its passenger side mirror sheared off at the base.

So I called the dealership and got the car out to Brown's Honda where the problem was remedied quick fast in a hurry and I got the oil change and servicing that was due anyway. And seriously, it was only half past ten. I stopped for a drink and threw some change in the Honda's built-in change tray for the parking meter later on.

I got to the inspection center down on Half Street SW and sat in the line that came out to the curb. But hey, I was sitting in air conditioned splendor just thinking about how crappy this queue must be for the environment with all of us sitting there in our idling cars cranking up the A/C. I felt real bad though for the woman who rode up behind me on her motorcycle, because she had the full thick padded gear that looks like a winter coat. The DMV guys took pity on her, thankfully, and let her cut to the head of the line after making her sweat a while.

As for me, I finally got into the place where you leave your car with the inspectors. I don't know how many personnel were in my car. No less than three. Maybe as high as six. There was pulling forward and backing up, running the car onto some skids and hitting the brakes sharply. More pulling forward. More backing up. Then they pulled it into another bay and a different driver repeated the maneuvers.

So I leave and I drive to my office and hunt for parking -- I probably drive the car to work about once or twice a year. I simply see no point in living in the city and driving a car to work. Maybe if I carried a microwave with me everywhere I went or was in some remote location, but we're talking Adams Morgan and Foggy Bottom here.

But here's the point of the story: I got to the metered parking spot and pulled in, then I went to the little built-in change container and it's empty. Utterly, completely, bereft of any sort of coin. Twice that morning I had actually thrown a few quarters in on top of the ones that were already there, so I know that it had had meter change in there. Not anymore.

Some asshole at the Inspection Center helped themselves to my change. The asshole probably got about $2.50 in quarters, nickels, and dimes, so I hope he or she got a nice bottle of coke or two with it.

I did a once-over the rest of the car and discovered thankfully that my iPod was still there, the few CDs we have in the glove box were still there, and my bag still contained its checkbook -- and yes I counted the checks.