The Parking Ticket Incident

So much for tomorrow, landlubber. Already a month of summer has slipped by and I haven't been able to resume my anecdotes about my junior-year initiation.
Honestly, too much time has passed and the events have escaped from my memory.
What I do remember, though, is the third and most compelling event; The Parking Ticket Incident.
Yes, it is in fact so monumental that it deserves its own title, possibly the entire title of this post.

See, one magical day my family and I were returning to our parked car after my brother's graduation. Rounding the corner, my dad spotted a meter maid and proceeded to run towards her, shouting, "Wait, I'm sorry! I'm right here!"
She looked at us, sneered, and despite my father's pleas she continued to write us a ticket.
A grim, stubbly bearded man frowned upon the frantic scene from the safety of his pickup truck. He fingered a quarter in his pocket. The merciless woman's face was contorted into a twisted smirk. "I saw red-"
"It ain't red." interrupted the man. The woman stared at him, challenging him. "What?"
"It. Ain't. Red.", he repeated. He pointed his finger towards the meter, which now held an extra ten minutes. She glared at the man and waddled away. My dad smiled and saluted our savior, who returned to his pickup and lit up a cigarette. We sat in silence as we were driven home.