He Parked in the Fire Lane to Save Two Minutes

The grocery store I use has a clearly painted fire lane right across the front, red curb, big letters, the whole thing. Everyone knows it. Everyone parks in the actual lot and walks the extra thirty seconds.

One afternoon a man in a shiny sports car decided the rules were for other people. He pulled straight into the fire lane, directly in front of the doors, ignored a security guard waving at him, ignored two people honking, put on his hazard lights as though that made it legal, and strolled inside to do his shopping. Not a quick grab. A cart. A full shop.

While he was inside, there was a small kitchen fire in the strip of shops next door. Nothing catastrophic, but the fire department came, fast, the way they do. And the fire lane, the one this man was parked in, is painted where it is painted for a reason: it is the only clear approach to the hydrant and the row of shops.

The firefighters did not have two minutes to find the owner of a sports car. They had a job. So they did what they are fully permitted to do. They ran their hose exactly where they needed it, which was through the interior of his car, in one window and out the other, both of which they opened for him at no charge. And the truck, maneuvering, left the kind of contact on his bumper that trucks leave.

He came out with his groceries to find his beautiful car soaked inside, windows down, bumper rearranged, and a very calm fire captain explaining that this was why the lane is red. The crowd of us in the parking lot, walking to our legally parked cars, did not offer sympathy.