I stood in front of the electric parking meter, looking from it to my license plate with a frown on my soft, plump, pink lips. I twirled a strand of my red hair around my finger as I tried to figure the machine out. How was I supposed to put my license plate number in when there was no dash mark on the keyboard? I huffed and stomped my foot, crossing my arms over my ample chest. I was going to be late for my reservation!
Just then a balding, middle-aged man in a parking authority jacket came up behind me. He coughed, gesturing to the machine that he needed to get to. I gasped and stepped up close to him, sure he was about to give me a ticket. I watched his eyes widen as I pressed against him.
“Please, sir! Don’t give me a ticket yet, I just can’t figure this thing out!”
The man sputtered for a moment, looking down at my low cut shirt now pressed against him. “Uh, okay. I can help. Just read me your plate.”