The DMN has this report about some unhappy fairgoers who *thought* they were parking in official spots, only to find their cars towed from whence they were.
Personal Anecdote Alert: A similar but different thing happened about 30 years ago when the McGill family went to the fair. It was super early on the last day of the fair’s run, as that was the only day my dad would go. (It was the best way to beat the crowds, he argued. It was also the best way to make the fair a depressing experience for an eight year old: Nothing like seeing loser livestock being packed up and moved out to get you in the mood for Owens’ sausage biscuits.) Anyway, a guy with a wad of cash and a tattered flag waved our ’77 Chevy Blazer onto a triangle patch of grass beneath a falling-apart billboard on the outskirts of Fair Park. All was good until we wanted to leave. The Flag Man, who had disappeared, did not have the best spatial relation skills. It took about an hour and 14 different swear-word combinations to navigate and extract ourselves from the logjam. If that billboard is still there, the only thing holding it up is the amount of paint we left on it.
