The area "A" Residential Parking Permit adventure.

I never thought I would be one of those frustrated people you see running around looking like they don't know what they're doing, but there I was last Wednesday afternoon at Frank Ogawa Plaza in downtown Oakland looking for the offices of the Transportation Division. And because two different security guards could only take their best guesses as to where I could get a parking permit, I was sent to two different buildings that didn't have what I was looking for. Bitches.

I'll backtrack a little bit: With my new job in San Francisco, I've been leaving my car in Oakland; but because of the parking restrictions on my street (you have to move your car every two hours during the day) I had to leave my car about three blocks away. But I could pay to get a residential permit for my area so that the two hour restriction wouldn't apply. So I headed to City Hall downtown, which unfortunately seemed to consist of EVERY BUILDING in Frank Ogawa Plaza. WTF?

Finally I found the information center and asked the clerk where I could get a parking permit. She gave me a building number, but at that point I was so frustrated I made her physically walk with me out to the plaza and point to where I needed to go.

When I got to that building another security guard stopped me and asked me what I needed. I told him a parking permit and he had me sign in and directed me to go through some double doors. The doors read "Parking Citations" --I looked back at the guard and said, "...there? I need to BUY A PERMIT." He just nodded and said, "that's it."

I walked into the next room and saw a bunch of chairs for people to wait in and some teller windows. Hey, whaddayaknow? Maybe this was the right place. I sat down and waited to be called. When I got up to the cashier window I told the lady I needed to buy a Residential Parking Permit for area "A".

She looked right at me and said, "You don't get that here. That's up on 6, but they're already closed at 4:30."

It was 4:45. My head almost exploded.

I stormed out of there and glared at the security guard. I wasted almost an hour on a wild goose chase and came away only with a seething hatred for Oakland's governmental beaucracy.

Two days later I returned for another attempt at getting that damn permit. This time the security guard was much more competent, "...head up to the 6th floor, I'll call and let them know you're coming." ...wow. Where was this guy the other day? I guess they stick all the dumdums on the night shift.

And EVEN BETTER, when I went to the offices to apply for the permit, the clerk told me the permit for my area was FREE. She just copied my info, gave me a sticker, and I was on my way. The whole process took less than ten minutes. How easy was that? Crazy.