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Whole Foods parking debacle
Last night we did Whole Foods in Cherry Creek again. I've bitched about it before (or rather, its clientele), but I don't believe I've ranted yet about the ludicrous parking situation there. Picture if you will a grocery store located smack in the heart of a major shopping district. An insanely busy grocery store. Picture this store's lot containing around 75 parking spaces, and at any given time there being about 90 people who want to use those spaces. Try then to picture the vicious deathmatch that ensues from this very poorly planned out situation. The simple act of parking involves hopelessly circling and circling. Every car that backs out is surrounded by four more, hovering like vultures, staring each other down. You have to be rude, you have to piss other people off; an extremely dog-eat-dog parking lot. It takes someone truly strong of heart and aggressive of driving skills to win one of these coveted spots. Every single month I and my coworkers have to deal with these unnecessarily stressful conditions.
But then, there's the garage. There is a very large parking garage at one end of the building, but I have never used it because someone somewhere once said that Whole Foods wouldn't validate parking for us. This led to a small number of very bitter (but unpublished) rants, I can assure you. But this month I simply did not want to deal with the parking lot rat race, so I decided to use the garage. I read something on the way in about weekend rates being $3, but I didn't linger too long on it.
Once inside and working, I tried to ask the employees what the deal was with the garage. They assured me that the Customer Service desk WOULD validate; one said for the entire night, another said for only an hour and a half. They suggested I move my car later when it wasn't so busy, but at the time of my dinner break I was starving to death and decided food took a higher priority right at that moment, not to mention things still looked kind of dodgy in the lot.
I kind of put it out of my mind until it was time to leave. I was starting to worry a bit about the charge -- was it $3 an hour? Because I had been there for 11 hours -- but even more about getting out at all. I had run back for a warmer jacket to count the seafood freezer and noticed no attendant on duty anymore. Gerry had scored a "special event" ticket for me from Customer Service that should have been good for the entire night, but I couldn't be sure. I'm a small-town girl, I don't have that much experience with parking garages.
My suspicions were confirmed. I pulled up to the pay machine where sensors detected the weight of my car and a female computer voice spoke to me. The "special event" ticket didn't work, so I was forced to use the one I received when I entered. I was pleasantly surprised to learn that the total fee was only $3. What a deal! I inserted my credit card to pay the pittance, only to hear the female voice inform me that the machine didn't take credit cards. I tried twice, but nothing. I studied the face of the device balefully. I took special note of the handwritten sign that said "insert credit card here." I took extra special note of the MasterCard/Visa logos right below that. The woman herself said "Reading card now" after I gave it my card, in the spot where it said to insert it, right above the MasterCard/Visa logos. But, like most computers, there was no reasoning with her.
Not knowing what to do, I approached the Help box conveniently situated on the other side of my car. I had a conversation with a very nice security guard, who empathized with me however, a.) he was really more involved with the security aspects of the garage, not so much the payment side of the business, and b.) he was in Brighton. He said he would certainly let me out if I were still stuck when he got there in an hour. (When I told Tery this story, she asked a question I missed: What good is a security guard sitting in Brighton? What would he have said if I was actually being attacked? "Keep running, I'll be there in an hour"??)
*Sigh* Reluctantly I returned to the store to beg for some cash. I had to leave my car parked in front of the machine, because if I moved it I suspected the transaction would begin again, except this time I'd have no ticket. Then instead of being screwed, I'd be really screwed. Gerry loaned me the $3, magnanimously at first, but then he threatened to "take it out of my hide" if I didn't repay him. Eep. (though I'd like to think my hide is worth enough that $3 would only entail, like, stomping on my foot or something.) I ran back and fed it into the machine, where the imperturbable female voice told me to push a button to get a receipt, as if nothing at all was wrong. "Shut up, bitch, you're on my list" I growled as I freed my vehicle at last.
Quite the adventure. But I maintain that $3 is a very small price to pay to avoid the life-or-death struggle that I used to endure to get a free space. I would have started using the garage a long time ago if I knew that.
But then, there's the garage. There is a very large parking garage at one end of the building, but I have never used it because someone somewhere once said that Whole Foods wouldn't validate parking for us. This led to a small number of very bitter (but unpublished) rants, I can assure you. But this month I simply did not want to deal with the parking lot rat race, so I decided to use the garage. I read something on the way in about weekend rates being $3, but I didn't linger too long on it.
Once inside and working, I tried to ask the employees what the deal was with the garage. They assured me that the Customer Service desk WOULD validate; one said for the entire night, another said for only an hour and a half. They suggested I move my car later when it wasn't so busy, but at the time of my dinner break I was starving to death and decided food took a higher priority right at that moment, not to mention things still looked kind of dodgy in the lot.
I kind of put it out of my mind until it was time to leave. I was starting to worry a bit about the charge -- was it $3 an hour? Because I had been there for 11 hours -- but even more about getting out at all. I had run back for a warmer jacket to count the seafood freezer and noticed no attendant on duty anymore. Gerry had scored a "special event" ticket for me from Customer Service that should have been good for the entire night, but I couldn't be sure. I'm a small-town girl, I don't have that much experience with parking garages.
My suspicions were confirmed. I pulled up to the pay machine where sensors detected the weight of my car and a female computer voice spoke to me. The "special event" ticket didn't work, so I was forced to use the one I received when I entered. I was pleasantly surprised to learn that the total fee was only $3. What a deal! I inserted my credit card to pay the pittance, only to hear the female voice inform me that the machine didn't take credit cards. I tried twice, but nothing. I studied the face of the device balefully. I took special note of the handwritten sign that said "insert credit card here." I took extra special note of the MasterCard/Visa logos right below that. The woman herself said "Reading card now" after I gave it my card, in the spot where it said to insert it, right above the MasterCard/Visa logos. But, like most computers, there was no reasoning with her.
Not knowing what to do, I approached the Help box conveniently situated on the other side of my car. I had a conversation with a very nice security guard, who empathized with me however, a.) he was really more involved with the security aspects of the garage, not so much the payment side of the business, and b.) he was in Brighton. He said he would certainly let me out if I were still stuck when he got there in an hour. (When I told Tery this story, she asked a question I missed: What good is a security guard sitting in Brighton? What would he have said if I was actually being attacked? "Keep running, I'll be there in an hour"??)
*Sigh* Reluctantly I returned to the store to beg for some cash. I had to leave my car parked in front of the machine, because if I moved it I suspected the transaction would begin again, except this time I'd have no ticket. Then instead of being screwed, I'd be really screwed. Gerry loaned me the $3, magnanimously at first, but then he threatened to "take it out of my hide" if I didn't repay him. Eep. (though I'd like to think my hide is worth enough that $3 would only entail, like, stomping on my foot or something.) I ran back and fed it into the machine, where the imperturbable female voice told me to push a button to get a receipt, as if nothing at all was wrong. "Shut up, bitch, you're on my list" I growled as I freed my vehicle at last.
Quite the adventure. But I maintain that $3 is a very small price to pay to avoid the life-or-death struggle that I used to endure to get a free space. I would have started using the garage a long time ago if I knew that.