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Traffic Wardens have probably the most dangerous job in the UK. There is always the chance that they will be stranded with their own dear van by the poor humans that they have fined. This species of animal is the only species, other than humans, to get paid. The aim of traffic wardens is to upset the humans that park their innocent automobile in an unfashionable way. But this species varies from council to council. For example, the traffic wardens are relatively tame in Bracknell Forest compared to Islington, City of Westminster and City of Oxford. But, unlike traffic wardens, we humans have a brain. We are able to work out that the whole point of Traffic Wardenism is to earn a ridiculous amount of money and to fuel the burning anger of the Human Civilians…
Traffic Wardens are the newest-evolved species in the world, and so don’t really have a history. And nor do they have a future. Automated Warden Cameras are replacing them. That’s pretty bad because they have a lower common sense rate than traffic wardens and are physically, mentally and revoltingly more aggressive too.
How do traffic wardens like your automobile parked?
This is a guide to how to park your car in such a way that warden cannot scream at you, malfunction and slap a ticket designed to absolutely mortify anyone. It should be noted that smart drivers often carry cans of black and yellow paint in their vehicles so they can simply park where they like and paint the appropriate markings once in place. Traffic wardens really prefer your parking exactly opposite to the following:
Enter your vehicle in a slow, subtle, inserting manor into the parking void. Check your car is not touching any lines surrounding the space.
Look outside your vehicle and check the lines. Every line by the side of the road must end with a buffer to be legal. You can park on a single yellow line at any time as long as there is no boring sign giving you a load of restrictions. You cannot park on a double yellow line or on a no stopping route.
Remain in your car when you are parked illegally. Traffic wardens cannot catch you here. Or otherwise, keep your passengers in the car. Also, it helps to stay just outside your car to watch out for wardens and to make a quick appeal there and then.
How to Mash Up a Traffic Warden
I’m in Islington in London today. I’m going to park four cars in some of the most notorious ticket spots there: Fonthill Road, Upper Street and Drayton Park. I’m using three similar cars, only differing by their colour and, well, their position, obviously, and a cool silver Porsche. Near each car, I have set up one close-up CCTV camera to catch all the thrilling, movie-making and surely gold-medal winning action. I am going to wait for a traffic warden, cause a total mal-coordinated riot on scene as I write this article.
The Red Car
Fonthill Road is most famous in London for its popular fashion shops and fashion shopping centres. It’s also a hotspot for traffic idiots to meet their criteria. I’m here first with my companion in the red car. I’ve just bought a ticket for fifteen minutes and we’re ready to rumble…wind. He’s out of the car. I’m now under the back seat. All four cars are heavily tinted, so it is difficult to see me inside. Ah! They’ve seen him get out of the car, and they’re coming over here to patrol and wait. Sixteen minutes later. One of the wardens is checking his watch and – oh dear. He’s checking my number plate and writing something. Who’s that shouting? Oh he’s back, after seventeen minutes! Well, he’s appealing for a cancellation for two reasons: the warden has only given two minutes of grace, and is officially disqualified from issuing a ticket because someone (me) was present in the car at the time. But because the window was so heavily tinted, he didn’t see me inside. Actually, he didn’t bother to look.
The Cool Expensive Porsche
My companion has parked his Porsche on Drayton Park near the Arsenal F.C. football ground in a box. Actually, the front-right wheel is slightly outside. But that doesn’t matter anyway because the yellow line it’s on is not buffered, so it doesn’t count. We are buying a ticket for fifteen minutes again. Twenty minutes later of watching from a distance, two traffic wardens arrive on the scene. They glance at the ticket, but don’t look at the number plate. Instead, one of them picks up a mobile radio phone thingy and starts talking. Ten minutes later, a removal van arrives. We are shocked. We hadn’t been warned, or anything similar. So we pushed both of the traffic wardens onto the floor. We immediately drove off. They haven’t even checked our number plates, because we quickly drove round the corner onto Gillespie Road, leaving them on the floor in a daze near a removal van, there for no reason.
The Green Car
I’m on Upper Street, near Islington Green, home to many bars and restaurants. My green car is parked there, and it has the same number plate as my red car. That’s because it’s the same car. This time, however, I haven’t bought a ticket. Ten minutes later, a traffic warden arrives. He looks at the windscreen, but sees no ticket. Then, he looks at the number plate and gleams a bright smile of cunning delight. But he does not issue a ticket: he calls his van over with ‘Islington’ posted all over the framework and takes a clamp out. Then, he fiddles around in the front seats of the van about something, giving me time to secretly nick a clamp out of the back. Thankfully, he doesn’t see me until I have installed one onto his back wheel! Ha! Serves him right! Then, after I had finished, and taken the key, he catches me walking away. “Hey! What do think you’re doin’? Well, I’ll tell you sumfink. It ain’t funny. Hey! Come back here you idiot and take that thing off.” I look at him dirty and carry on walking. I get in, with the keys, leave him there and take off. Half an hour later, it starts to rain, and the usually busy streets begin to empty. I come back in two and a half hours later, with the keys and place them on his bonnet, without seeing me.
The Blue Car
Nothing happens. I accidentally park over the border in Hackney, and are kind to me. I give up and hit the road.