If the word hassle could be given physical form it would take the shape of an SIUC parking decal. A least, this is what I thought as I stood in line last week for over an hour in ninety degree weather just to find out that the registration and insurance form that I held in my sweating hand, along with a yellow card that contained basic information about myself, were indeed a registration, an insurance form and a yellow card.

Oh, and don’t forget proof of current enrollment. As if any non-student would want to pay $30.00 to participate in SIUC’s daily clamorous competition for dwindling parking spaces.

With that important bit of scrutiny completed, I was then advanced to the second line, whose end was still in the blazing heat of a greenhouse afternoon, but whose termination would bring me to the air-conditioned heart of SIU’s parking division.

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I was overcome by a sense of satisfaction as I looked at the poor suckers who were at the end of (the) line I had just left.

While I stood in the second line, estimating the number of calories I was losing to the sun, I suddenly wondered to myself, why couldn’t all this be done by the mail? Would it not be easier just to mail or fax a copy of my registration and insurance to the parking division? Why the bureaucracy? The answer soon made itself known.

Upon entering the parking division building I was met by a worker who asked me for my SIUC identification card in order to determine whether or not I had any outstanding tickets.

Damn it! They had me right where they wanted me pay now or come back later to stand in line again. Reluctantly I handed my ID to the smiling worker.

My mind raced as I tried to calculate the number of tickets I had received last semester. There was the ticket I received for parking in a 15-minute loading zone for 17 minutes. Then there was the ticket I received for inadvertently parking in a blue lot space my apologies for usurping a faculty member’s parking position to an institution that I support financially (via tuition and parking tickets.) And how about the time I backed into a parking space instead of pulling forward. And don’t forget the ticket. …

Just then the smiling worker han-ded me my ID and pointed toward the third and final line. I looked at the worker incredulously. How could it be that I had no tickets to pay for? Then I remembered that all my tickets had gone to my bursar bill for my convenience (and the parking division’s.) It was almost like not getting the tickets in the first place.

The final line went quickly, and before I knew it, I was walking back out into the heat of the afternoon. Four pounds and $30.00 lighter and with a tan that was three shades dar-ker than when I first started, I graced my vehicle with a red decal.

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Joe Carberry is a senior in psychology.