Metro Transit Police charged a 20-year-old Alexandria man with stealing three Zipcars from the parking lots of Braddock Road, King Street, and Franconia-Springfield stations. Brian Senia was out on bond awaiting trial on a previous charge of unauthorized use of a motor vehicle in the city of Alexandria at the time of his arrest. He allegedly went joyriding with friends before abandoning the cars. According to Metro, other police departments have been alerted to the thefts, and Senia is under investigation for possible thefts of other cars throughout the area. —Jule Banville

There’s nothing funny about traffic fatalities. I’d just like to get that out there at the start. Still, looking at the bus and bus-stop ads for the Metropolitan Washington Council of Government’s Governments’ “StreetSmart” program, I can’t help but notice what sort of person they’ve chosen to illustrate the hazards of crossing streets.

Look at this man being hit by a car. His stripy sweater, artfully distressed jeans, overdesigned shoes, and flying cup of Starbucks—they all scream “oblivious, over-consuming hipster.” I guess the question here, then, is: How effective are ads that portray the horrors of a scenario that I suspect many people secretly fantasize about?

Slow-moving automobiles are making their way eastward in this great city of ours.

The Neighborhood Pace Car Program, sponsored by the D.C. Department of Transportation in partnership with the Washington Area Bicyclist Association (WABA), has already taken root in Ward 3 and is currently creeping (at 30 mph or so) into Ward 6.

The safety program asks neighborhood motorists “to take responsibility for the impact of their own driving while setting the ‘pace’ for safer streets and neighborhoods.” It also asks them to place the special pace car decal in a prominent spot on their automobiles, so that other motorists don’t just assume that the driver is (a) trolling for a parking space; or (b) a longtime subscriber to AARP The Magazine.

Eve DeCoursey, a spokesperson for WABA, says the pace car idea originated in Australia. “Instead of just involving the engineers to FORCE the speed limit,” she writes, “or just involving the police to ENFORCE the speed limit, it also involves the drivers themselves(!) encouraging them to take responsibility for the impact that the velocity of their vehicles have on our neighborhood and community streets.”

DeCoursey goes on to say that the “risk and danger that a driver introduces to the street scape when driving 10-15mph beyond the speed limit is significant.”

Pat Munoz, who signed up to be a pace car driver in Northwest, says it hasn’t been an enormous part of her life because she doesn’t drive that much. But when she does drive, the sticker helps remind her to slow down and pay attention.

“Zooming around in your car isn’t conducive to having a nice neighborhood,” Munoz says. Munoz also says she hasn’t noticed if cleaving to the speed limit has convinced other drivers to slow down. “Maybe the people behind me…”

—Rend Smith

An enduring mystery of District life, at least for me, a non-District resident: Why is the Exxon at the corner of Virginia Avenue NW and Rock Creek Parkway so bloody expensive? Today a gallon of regular will set you back $3.69 at that station. That’s 20 cents more than the next most expensive station in D.C. , according to Gasbuddy.com. I pass by this station every day and am always surprised by how much it costs to gas up there.

I’ve heard predictions that gas will hit $4 a gallon by this summer; that station is on course to hit that price point by next month! And I just don’t understand why the invisible hand isn’t working in this case. Do Watergate residents enjoy the station’s quaint exterior so much that they don’t mind paying such a premium? Is the service amazing? How about the coffee? Why is this place still in business?

Artwork by unclejerry

At-Large Councilmember Kwame R. Brown’s gotten a fair amount of attention for his campaign conveyance, a huge blue conversion van plastered with Kwame Brown-in-’08 decals.

Sorry, Kwame, you no longer are king of campaign transpo. Ward 7 Councilmember Yvette Alexander has you beat.

This monster was parked outside the Washington Senior Wellness Center this afternoon in advance of the mayor’s State of the District speech.

What the Yvettemobile lacks in sign dimensions is more than made up for by the sheer mass of its conveyance. Alexander’s campaign manager, Darryl Rose, says the pickup—made by semi-tractor manufacturer International—is all his. “It won’t be showing up on any campaign finance reports,” he says. The Alexander sign is magnetic and can easily attached and removed for campaign functions.

Rose showed off the remote-start function, and then LL climbed up—way up—into the cockpit to sample the truck’s leather seating and premium audio system (sample CD: Bobby Brown’s The Definitive Collection).

LL did not peek under the hood, but Rose vouches for the horsepower. “It’s got a tractor-trailer motor,” he says. “A big ole motor.”

“We’re just using it to help re-elect” Alexander, Rose says. “It gets a lot of attention.”

Marc Fisher gives driving to the ballpark the Dr. Gridlock treatment. I drove to the ballpark during rush hour this morning, using the following route from the mid-city area: 9th Street NW/SW to Maine Avenue SW to M Street SW to First Street SW. Parked on the unit block of Q Street SW; crossed South Capitol Street at Potomac Avenue and strolled right in. Door-to-door time? 20 minutes. —Mike DeBonis

Well, I decided to fight those phantom tickets.

Headed down to 301 C Street at about 3:15, walked into the hearing registration room, waited about 10 minutes, was sent to a hearing room, waited another 15 minutes for a half-dozen other folks, then got my hearing, which took all of about five minutes.

The skinny: Within an hour, I got all my late fees knocked off! And one of the duplicate tickets was dismissed!

Instead of $365, I now owe a mere $190. Only bad parts: The credit-card system was down, so I couldn’t actually pay the bill, and the examiner wouldn’t waive the $50 boot fee, seeing as I still had two boot-eligible tickets—even though those were tickets I would have paid promptly had I known about them.

Here’s to you, Hearing Examiner Stephen Reichert: You are the very picture of judicial wisdom and reasoned insight.

Sonuvabitch! Just walked past my car on the way to the office and I’ve been booted.

I got an expired-meter ticket about two weeks ago which I haven’t paid just yet, but I’m thinking, That sure as hell isn’t enough to get me the boot!

So I logged on to the city’s online ticketing system and punched in my plate. This is what I got:

The following tickets issued to this vehicle plate are due:

Ticket Number Issue Date Violation Location Amount
370199314 10/22/2007 P173 2300 BLOCK 15TH ST NW EAST SIDE $60.00
370709931 10/24/2007 P039 0500 BLOCK E ST NW SOUTH SIDE $50.00
370728256 10/22/2007 P173 2300 BLOCK 15TH ST NW EAST SIDE $60.00
371249830 11/19/2007 P173 1400 BLOCK BELMONT ST NW NORTH SIDE $60.00
372899295 11/27/2007 P173 1300 BLOCK W ST NW SOUTH SIDE $60.00
373726404 12/14/2007 P039 0500 BLOCK 11TH ST NW EAST SIDE $25.00

GODDAMMIT! OK, I remember the last one. But swear to God I never saw any of those other five tickets. One or two tickets I could see getting blown away by the wind or stolen by some asshole, but FIVE? Plus, one of those seems to be a duplicate—can I really get ticketed on the same day on the same block. And I know which block that is! The east side of the 2300 block of 15th doesn’t have street sweeping restrictions! It’s on the goddamned hill next to Meridian Hill Park!!!

Christ!

Anyway, now I gotta decide whether I wanna spend almost $400 paying for tickets and late fees I never knew I had or going down to C Street and hoping the line for hearings isn’t too ridiculous.

Your input is appreciated.

My brother’s in town from Chicago, and last night I was driving him to his hotel room. We went down Wythe Street in Old Town, not far from where our parents used to live, on North Columbus, and we were remarking on how odd it was to see white people walking their dogs on Wythe Street in Old Town at 11:20 p.m. We got to his hotel, realized he’d left his bag at our place, and went back home, back up Wythe. A block before the Metro stop, I heard a THUNK against the rear gate of my Toyota, then saw some kids running away. I got out and saw I’d been egged! On the way back to the hotel, my brother and I drove slowly down the block, looking to jump out and try to scare the behayzeus out of the kids. He rolled up—this is so embarrassing—the current issue of the City Paper, Jason Bourne–like, to resemble a weapon. We rolled past the low-rises, but it was all getting a bit Herc and Carver, and anyway, lucky for us, we never found ‘em. I’m pretty sure if we ran at those kids they’d just laugh at the old guys wielding newspapers. Our bluff called, we’d be forced to retreat to the omeletmobile.

It was a real pain to scrub the egg off the back. That stuff dries quickly.

I called Flexcar on Monday to see if anyone had turned in a pair of Ray-Bans my friend had forgotten in the car I took out over the weekend. “We don’t have a centralized lost and found,” the woman said. Instead, items are just left in the cars. You have to reserve the vehicle again, at your own cost, and go back and fetch your stuff for yourself. Even when people call to report finding valuable items like wallets or cell phones, the office staff just tells them to leave the booty in the car. Flexcar may get in touch with the last driver, but that’s it.

With deadlines and being generally disorganized, I didn’t get back to the car until yesterday. I was dreading breaking the news to my friend, whom I’d told I was “getting right on it” on Monday. But lo and behold, the glasses were there. I really didn’t expect that. I guess I assume that everyone steals.

I often tell people that I’ve never stolen anything. I really do think it’s wrong, and I’m scared of getting caught. In high school, I would only act as lookout when my friends wandered out of Albertson’s with bottles of wine stuffed in their baggy skate pants. I refused to go on shoplifting sprees at Nordstrom. I won’t even steal music or movies from the internet.

But now that I think about it, I’m not as high and mighty when ownership isn’t clear. I once found a dollar in a Flexcar. And I took it. Maybe I would have taken the sunglasses if I’d found them. I think people have a sliding scale for the kind of abandoned items it’s OK to take. My gym’s lost and found, an unlocked chest in the locker room, is openly perused for spare headphones. I’d trust people to resist the temptation of an iPod, maybe. Or a wallet. But not necessarily sunglasses.

I’ve been trying to figure out the ethics of whether it’s good or bad to take stuff people forget, or how much effort you should put into giving it back. I hate the pay it forward crap, so it’s not like I’m going to go do something nice just because I found the sunglasses. But I do think taking stuff from Flexcars is like stealing. So if you left a dollar in the car by Domku this summer, I owe you.

Certainly someone on your gift list has pets. And it’s always nice to treat the dog-loving friend to something sweet for the pooch. Perhaps a customized doggie bowl or one of those classic yuppie dog beds.

I think it’s safe to say, however, that your friend’s best friend will probably make it through ‘08 just fine without this particular invention from home-furnishing retailer Frontgate. It’s called the “Telescoping Pet Ramp,” and it’s designed to ease Rover’s transition in and out of SUVs.

Well, just take it from Frontgate itself: “For a little help up uneven stairs or a big step into the truck bed, this innovative pet product accommodates pets of all sizes and ages. Great for use indoors or out, at home or on the road.”

Think about this scenario: You head out in your Cadillac Escalade, with your Telescoping Pet Ramp, your kids, your husband, and Rover, who hangs out with the ramp in back. You’re going to take a walk, let’s say on the C&O. You arrive at the parking lot somewhere out there near Cabin John or something. Everybody’s pumped to jump out. You go around back and open up the hatch. Is Rover really going to wait for you to pull out your Telescoping Pet Ramp, adjust it to the proper length, and set it up?

TPR lists for $129.99.

I said goodbye today to my 2001 Toyota Corolla.

The Brookland mechanic shop that was warehousing my car told me I had to come and take whatever I wanted. They wanted my car out of their lot. They wanted it junked. I had until this afternoon. When I arrived, I didn’t need to give my name. The dude just said: “Are you Jason?” and then handed over my old keys.

Maybe they really didn’t like my car.

In the shop’s lot, the car took in sunlight through its shattered windshield. Inside, the Corolla’s spent airbags flapped over the steering wheel and glove compartment. It already looked like someone had gone through my shit. That person was probably me right after my accident.

For some reason, I decided to give the car something I had never given it before: a serious cleaning. I dug under the seats and tossed out the old water bottles, the yellowed newspapers, the brochures for seaside resorts. I balled up bits of gum wrappers, bank statements, and old notes and tossed them out. I filled two trash bags with the big stuff. I pocketed 15 cents, five mixtapes, a friend’s blanket, one whiffle-ball bat, one trash bag already filled with older junk, one pair of black socks, one tennis racket, and one BK Star Wars toy.

But my favorite find: one extremely moldy sandwich in a plastic container. Now I know why my car smelled sometimes.

I did not take the sandwich home with me.

A few weeks ago I got a “notice of infraction” from the Metropolitan Police Department in the mail. The notice included photos taken by the city’s traffic cameras, one showing my car approaching an intersection near Gallaudet University and a second showing my car stopped at that intersection. There is no photo of my car in the intersection or any hint that anybody ran any red light. Instead, the photos show traffic right in front of my car that would have made it impossible for me to run the light without getting T-boned.

The violation is listed as “Signal Pass Red Lite,” which makes no sense and gets no Google hits. The fine is $75.

How do you fight a violation that never happened and a charge that doesn’t exist? Lately I feel like a magnet for these bogus tickets, but I can’t be the only sap charged with fictional violations. Can I?

Justice lite, indeed.

(And, yes, I paid the fine.)

D.C.’s car cell-phone ban is very wise, I discovered during my driving lesson this weekend. But I’d take it a step further: Don’t let people talk in cars at all.

That’s because conversation saps precious mental resources from such tasks as noticing stop signs. While silent, I drove like a pro, cruising at speeds upward of forty miles per hour. I spent several minutes on a four-lane road without breaking a sweat. Then, I turned left, boldly crossing a lane of oncoming traffic. I even remembered to check my mirrors with some frequency—no mean feat given my one-month driving hiatus.

Things went south when I told Jason (my friend and driving instructor) about a strange personal essay I recently read. In it, a Poynter Institute scholar has a moral quandary in a church bathroom, involving a little boy and his zipper. Seriously. And to top things off, the writer then posted a link on his blog to solicit admiration for his hackneyed literary devices.

Thus distracted, I rolled right past a stop sign. A few minutes later, I nearly knocked off Jason’s left mirror while slaloming through parked cars on a narrow street.

Rattled, I turned over the wheel to my instructor, who drove to a church so I could practice parking. At first, I didn’t have much luck—either I hit an imaginary car, or I ended up all crooked in the space. But just as I was about to give up, a church-bound lady flashed me a reassuring smile. I pulled into the next space without a hitch.

Maybe she was an angel.

Driving lesson 5
Destination: McLean
Lessons learned: Don’t talk and drive
Weather conditions: Cold
Sadie: B
Jessica: Truant

D.C.’s two titans of car-sharing are set to merge. Flexcar patrons got this e-mail earlier this morning:

Dear —,

We’re thrilled to announce some big news: Flexcar is merging with Zipcar, another U.S.-based car-sharing company.

This is good news for you for several reasons, including: more vehicles, more markets, and enhanced technology. Shortly, your membership will give you access to more cars for you to choose from in D.C. In addition, you’ll have access to shared cars in New York, Boston, Toronto, Vancouver—even London! We’ll be incorporating Zipcar’s award-winning technology, which will make it even easier to find, reserve, and unlock cars.

We’ll be keeping you posted on the wheres and whens via email and on the website, with links from the reservation pages. In the meantime, you can check out this page for more details or, if you have specific questions that just can’t wait, email us at merger@flexcar.com.

We’re pretty excited about continuing to develop car-sharing as a truly viable alternative to car-ownership for more and more people. Thank you for being so supportive—we look forward to returning the favor.

The Team at Flexcar