Take a close look at D.C. streets these days. At times specified for street-sweeping, you’ll find huge swaths of open parking spaces, presumably to make way for those orange Department of Public Works machines that gobble up leaves and debris.

But guess what: Those machines take the winter off. And ticket writers don’t enforce the parking restrictions, either. According to a DPW press release, there’ll be no tickets for street-sweeping violations until April 2.

So, if the rules aren’t in force, why are so many people complying with them? That’s DPW’s fault. Sure, they issue press releases and some media outlets pick up the news. But who’s really gonna burrow into the briefs on Page B8 to find this information?

The fix is obvious. DPW should just change the street-sweeping signs to say something to the following effect: “Not in effect from Dec. 1 through March 31.” If it’d be too costly to make permanent changes, hell, they could just affix some stickers.

No such luck. As a result, a lot of clueless folks are hustling their asses to move their cars by 9:30 a.m. on weekday mornings.

When a truck with D.C. government insignia and a bed full of salt remained parked on the 1500 block of Allison Street NW for almost two weeks, Louis Wassel and his neighbors thought perhaps the city had started giving individual neighborhoods salt trucks as part of a new DIY clean-up initiative. Wassel was rolling up his sleeves, readying to help.

But when City Desk contacted DPW earlier this week, turns out the truck was just broken down. It has since been towed.

DPW spokesperson Linda Grant thought the idea of a neighborhood truck made a lot of sense, though.

“Considering what it has been like with the snowstorms and ice storms,” Grant says, “that might be a good idea.”

Photo courtesy of Louis Wassel

Two weeks ago, Ward 1 Councilmember Jim Graham, responding to constituents’ concerns, lobbied for and received 10 traffic-control officers to man the main thoroughfares of Adams Morgan during the busiest hours of weekend revelry. But residents had no idea that the officers would prove a bigger nuisance than the traffic jams they were hoping to prevent.

The traffic cops—the same ones that man the major intersections in the downtown business district during weekday rush hours—used whistles. And from 9 p.m. to 3 a.m., they stood in the busy intersections directing traffic and emitting high-pitched shrills, much to the annoyance of sleeping neighbors.

Linda Grant, spokesperson for the Department of Public Works, says that the officers were doing a fine job. They were just making too much noise while they were doing it.

“We did hear from residents that the whistles were distracting and annoying,” Grant says. “So we’ve pulled back and our next step is to rethink how to have a better program on the weekends in Adams Morgan.”

Grant says the whistles are vital to the job. They get the attention of motorists when officers are trying to direct their movements. The whistles also alert motorists to the officers’ presence in the middle of intersections. So traffic cops sans whistles ain’t gonna happen, and DPW is going back to the drawing board.

Grant admits that the plan, though well-intentioned, may have been ill-conceived. “At that hour of the morning,” she says, “I would be annoyed.”

On the morning of Nov. 11, Yvonne Smith was driving through Hillcrest on her way to work at the Metropolitan Police Department. Along the 2200 block of Branch Avenue, an orange dump truck belonging to the Department of Public Works pulled out in front of her. Smith was shocked to see a legless, busty mannequin wearing a racy black top strapped to the truck’s grille.

This wasn’t the first time that someone has found a DPW driver’s aftermarket adornment to be tasteless. Two weeks ago, another resident saw a garbage truck displaying a Dora the Explorer doll like a roadkill trophy. That resident couldn’t catch the truck’s license-plate number, but Smith was more determined: She made a U-turn, wrote down its tags, and then called the city to report it.

“I was offended because of all the issues we have about domestic violence,” says Smith. “And because of the big boobs and the little top the mannequin was wearing, it was in my opinion a form of sexual harassment against the neighborhood.”

Smith was transferred around DPW, but no one seemed to take her complaint seriously. When Smith, a Prince George’s County resident, got to work, she went onto the Hillcrest Internet group and recounted what she had seen. Within an hour, the truck had been located, the mannequin had been removed, and a DPW supervisor had phoned Smith to apologize for the incident and promise that disciplinary action would be taken against the offenders.

DPW spokesperson Mary Myers says that while the employees were told in no uncertain terms that such behavior was unacceptable, the agency doesn’t break down what is and what isn’t appropriate for drivers to put on their trucks. “I don’t think an incident like this has ever come up,” she says. “We don’t have anything specific on mannequins.”

On Sept. 19, Cleveland Park resident Amy Longsworth called the city to report an enormous gray pickup truck with Maryland tags that had parked within inches of her driveway, blocking her view of oncoming traffic when she backed out. The offending truck was gone by the time a parking officer arrived 45 minutes later, but to Longsworth’s surprise, the officer placed a ticket on her husband’s car, a silver Buick with D.C. tags.

Longsworth says she tried to explain that this wasn’t the vehicle she had called about, but the officer replied that she had a headache and was just following orders. When Longsworth pointed out that neither reason was grounds for ticketing her husband’s car, the officer suddenly said that the car was parked less than 5 feet from (Longsworth’s own) driveway, and was thus in violation. Longsworth got a tape measure to prove that the car was actually more than 6 feet from the driveway, and the officer agreed, but she refused to take back the ticket. A call to the officer’s supervisor, Erica Woodhouse, was no help. The officer, in front of Longsworth, told Woodhouse that the car was parked less than 5 feet from the driveway. When Longsworth protested, the officer repeated that she had a headache and drove away. The ticket, which included a request for towing, remained under the wiper. Longsworth called Woodhouse back and was told that the officer’s job was not to look at tape measures but to enforce violations.

“I was stunned and amazed,” says Longsworth. “It was frustrating because there was no appealing to reason in the situation. And when [the officer], right in front of me, had no problem getting on the phone with her supervisor and lying—talk about the Twilight Zone.” (Full disclosure: Longsworth writes occasionally for the Washington City Paper.)

Once Longsworth’s blood pressure dropped out of the red zone, she sent an e-mail to the Cleveland Park Internet discussion group. Advisory Neighborhood Commissioner Nancy MacWood forwarded the information to the city’s director of parking enforcement, Teri Adams, who replied in an e-mail that her agency had “investigated, counselled and disciplined both the Supervisor as well as Parking officer involved in this incident.” Bill Howland, the director of the Department of Public Works (DPW), also called Longsworth to apologize, and the ticket was dismissed. “This isn’t something that we condone,” says DPW spokesperson Mary Myers. “It’s unacceptable behavior.”

On Aug. 3, Department of Public Works (DPW) investigators discovered an abandoned boat washed up in a less-than-ideal dock—the shoulder of the northbound access road along Kenilworth Avenue NE near the Maryland line.

The vessel, a MacGregor speedboat, white with steel-blue trim, was tied atop a trailer. Its new environment had not been kind: The trailer was missing its tires. One rudder had been torn off. And its steering wheel had been swiped. Inside the boat, people had dumped three tires and several crumpled empties.

Since the private hauler DPW contracted needed to find an adequately equipped flatbed truck to take it away, the boat would get a six-day stay on Kenilworth—and a Tuesday-night visit from Omar Johnson.

Johnson had an explanation for the boat’s new environs. He claimed the boat was his, that he had sold it but when the buyer couldn’t make his payments, he had to repo the boat to this strip. He offered to sell it for $2,800. By way of salesmanship, Johnson said he’d christened the vessel Sandy the White Freak.

Sandy, he says, provided some happy memories. “I took it on the marina a couple times, ate some crabs,” he boasted. “And banged a few bitches.…As you can see, it’s very tight. You do the math.” Johnson’s offer on Sandy was good for a few more hours. He claimed he would be coming back to the MacGregor in the morning to move it to friendlier shores.

Instead, on Wednesday, Aug. 9, DPW hauled the boat away to its Blue Plains impoundment lot.

Lincoln Park resident John Wilmot’s regular yard-work duties not only include keeping his own grounds tidy, but also minding an adjacent lot on the corner of 12th and Park Streets NW. A lot, as it happens, that belongs to the city.

And it can be dirty, slimy work, too. “I clean up gutters every year by hand,” says Wilmot. But this year, when he left the fruits of his annual guck harvest on the corner in plastic bags, he found out the city was hardly appreciative. The bags were not removed, and the Department of Public Works (DPW) threatened Wilmot with a fine.

City regulations require that “all debris…be placed in legal containers in a manner so as to prevent litter,” says DPW spokesperson Vera Jackson in an e-mail clarification of the incident. “Plastic bags left at a location that is not an official point of collection contribute to litter in the area, and are subject to enforcement measures.”

The letter Wilmot received from DPW informing him of his violation allowed five days to remove the bags, but the letter arrived on the fifth day of the grace period. To avoid the $75 “enforcement measure,” Wilmot took the bags to the dump in the middle of a rainstorm.

“It’s ironic that I clean the gutters by hand, put the bags down…[and] I’m the guy who ends up getting the potential fine,” Wilmot says.

Jackson had some kind words for the proactive citizen—sort of. “The resident should be commended for maintaining the public space abutting his/her private property as required of all property owners in the District of Columbia,” she writes. “A clean city is everyone’s business.”

If you’re looking to free up a few parking spaces to do some construction work, getting official “Emergency No Parking” signs is no big deal. You head on down to the District Department of Transportation (DDOT) headquarters at the Reeves Center a few days beforehand, fill out a few forms, and walk out with your placards.

Apparently, that’s still too much hassle for somebody in Foggy Bottom.

Temporary no-parking signs on the 1100 block of 24th Street NW have been changed by construction crews, says Michael Malloy, editor of a neighborhood newsletter. “They’ve been doing it for a while,” he says, “but now it’s just getting out of control.” Malloy says the signs are put up on short notice—less than the required 72 hours—and altered whenever construction crews deem it necessary. “It’s probably just a construction crew saying, ‘No one will complain,’” Malloy says, discussing a sign that was originally marked to expire June 25 and has been changed to June 30.

Just exactly who’s doing the creative editing, though, remains unclear. An employee of Bovis Lend Lease who operates a construction site on the block, says his crew isn’t the problem. He blames the city, the Department of Public Works (DPW) in particular, for the altered signs—and a big hassle. Though Bovis workers can’t park vehicles on the east side of the street, no maintenance is currently being done. “The signs have been up for three days and no trucks have been there,” he says.

“I haven’t heard anything about the issue,” says DPW spokesperson Mary Myers. She points out that her agency does not handle any sidewalks or street maintenance and referred questions about the signs to DDOT, which could not respond to an inquiry by press time*. “DPW does not issue any signs, ‘No Parking’ or otherwise.…[People] say DPW, but they mean DDOT.”

Malloy isn’t buying the excuses, either. “I’m 90 percent sure it’s not a city crew,” he says.

ADDENDUM, 6/29, 1:05 P.M.: Late yesterday, DDOT spokesperson Erik Linden said that his agency had not placed the signs. Linden said that Washington Gas was working in the area and might be the culprit. However, a Washington Gas spokesperson, Janet Davis, also denied responsibility. “As far as I know, we have no scheduled work in that area,” she said.

Two years ago, Victoria Taylor’s license plates disappeared from her car parked outside her Peabody Street NW home, and over the following months, a Toyota sporting those tags racked up more than $3,000 worth of parking tickets across the city. After a struggle with the city, Taylor finally had those tickets dismissed earlier this year. She thought her battle was over.

But after a short hiatus, Taylor’s stolen tags are back in circulation. These days, evidently, they’re bolted to a “car that looks like a Buick,” she says, that was caught speeding by a traffic camera. That ticket arrived in her mailbox last month.

D.C. police and Department of Motor Vehicles spokespeople say that all of Taylor’s tickets should be written off immediately as long as the tags were reported stolen—which they were, two years ago.

To blame is a lack of communication between the Department of Public Works, which issues parking tickets, the DMV, which handles license plates, and the D.C. police, who take theft reports. “Nobody seems to be able to resolve this situation,” says Doug Payton, an aide to Ward 4 Councilmember Adrian Fenty who is assisting Taylor. “I want to help, but I’m confused, too.”

DMV Director Anne Witt says her agency is trying to upgrade its computer system so people who report stolen tags aren’t mailed tickets in the first place.

So far Taylor has not yet had any luck getting the ticket expunged. She suspects the catch lies in one word included in her police report way back when. An officer listed the tags as “missing” instead of “stolen” because, Taylor says, “we did not see anybody take the tags.”

—Elizabeth H. McGowan