Beating the PPA

I made $1,200 by being an unrepentant scofflaw. And so can you!

by John Davidson

Michael T. Regan TICKET MASTERY: The author figured he had nothing to lose by racking up tickets on his beat-up, inspection- failure of a ride. Little did he know he had a wallet-full to gain. (CLICK IMAGE FOR LARGER VERSION)

Iused to have nothing but contempt for the Philadelphia Parking Authority. I inwardly sneered at traffic cops strolling the block, scorned the many tickets they slapped on my windshield, denounced the fines as extortion and refused to pay. I even parked illegally, on purpose, to protest their Draconian measures.

But that was all before the PPA cut me a check for almost $1,200.

That's right, the Philadelphia Parking Authority paid me. Big-time. And while I still think parking in this city is a clusterfuck, I don't really mind them so much anymore.

It all began with my worthless car. When I moved here from Chicago nearly two years ago, I didn't bother getting state inspection tags for my 2000 Honda Accord because I knew the damn thing would never pass muster. The front end was held on with plastic zip ties, there was no passenger side mirror, no brake lights because the wiring on the entire vehicle was shot, the exhaust system was about to fall off and the alignment was permanently skewed after I slammed headlong into some stationary objects. With some 170,000 miles logged, it was basically a worthless heap, but it ran.

Since I knew it would cost more to repair the car to pass inspection than it was worth, I took my chances and drove it anyway. Before long I racked up more than $500 in parking tickets. I couldn't park anywhere without getting one; anyone could see there were no inspection tags on my windshield and the car was clearly not inspection-tag-worthy.

In mid-August, after I got ticket No. 13 or so, I took the old Honda to a mechanic. "Get a new car," he suggested after a quick once-over. "I suppose I could take your money and work on this thing, but it's not worth it."

I thanked him for his honesty and drove off in my now officially worthless, ridiculous car. Well, a few days later I bought a Volvo on Craigslist, inspection tags and all, for $800. A friend drove me to Fort Washington to pick it up, and I came home to find the Honda booted.

Instead of the flabbergasted outrage most people have upon seeing a boot, I was glad. It was my chance finally to be done with the useless car. "Go ahead and take it, bloodsuckers," I silently jeered. I've had to dispose of useless cars before and knew I would've had to pay at least $40 to get rid of it, so I figured this was a win-win.

The next day, it was gone, and about a week later, I got a notice that they were sending the car to auction. "Maybe it'll sell for a few hundred bucks at the most and take care of at least part of what I owe," I thought.

Another week went by and I got a letter saying the car sold on Aug. 31. I almost didn't read the whole thing, but then I saw a figure printed at the bottom of the page: $1,196. Huh?

Turns out $1,196 was left over after the sale and I could claim it if I showed proof of prior ownership. I read the letter again to make sure I understood, called the PPA's auction department and asked the lady point-blank, "You mean to tell me I can claim this money? It's mine for the taking?"

"Yes sir, just send us proof of prior ownership like it says in the letter."

"And you'll just send me a check?"

"Yes, we'll send you a check."

"Am I in trouble?"

"No sir, you're not in trouble."

They told me someone paid $2,600, and that the money was used to pay towing and storage costs, as well as all of my outstanding tickets. The remaining balance was mine if I wanted it. Which I did.

But who would pay $2,600 for that heap? I needed to know. None of it made any sense. I called again and pleaded with them to tell me who the buyer was, but they wouldn't (it's against PPA policy to share such information). I decided not to press the matter for fear of jeopardizing my claim.

Still, the knowledge that someone had paid so much for my old worthless car fascinated me, and I went to the next PPA auction hoping somehow to find the buyer. At the very least, maybe someone could tell me how it was possible a worthless car could sell for so much.

The PPA has three auction lots: The Tioga Terminal Impoundment Lot at 3201 N. Delaware Ave., the Essington Avenue Impoundment Lot at 6801 Essington and the Swanson Street Impoundment Lot at 2535 S. Swanson. There are three auctions a week, posted on the PPA's unclaimed vehicle auction Web site.

Last year, they auctioned off 17,335 vehicles for more than $6.7 million in revenue. So far, 2007 is looking even better with 15,112 vehicles auctioned for more than $7.3 million.

On Saturdays, the auction is usually at Tioga, only five minutes from my Fishtown apartment. About 60 people were there that Saturday morning, milling around rows of impounded vehicles, some 150 across the sprawling waterfront lot. There were sedans, wagons, a few tow trucks, an old SEPTA bus and a small pickup truck loaded down with a hodgepodge of furniture including an actual kitchen.

Most bidders knew exactly what they were doing; they stood around looking serious and bored, scribbling on clipboards or talking on cell phones. Others, myself included, wandered from vehicle to vehicle, peering into the cabs. Many were taken with little or no warning, the previous owners' personal effects still strewn about. It felt awkward and wrong, as if I were looking into the living room window of a seized house, contemplating a bid on someone else's stuff.

That's when the absurdity of the situation hit home. Here I was, an unrepentant scofflaw perusing vehicles in the very impoundment lot where my Honda no doubt sat just weeks before. Yet somehow, by stroke of luck or stupidity, I'd been rewarded. I smiled to myself.

There, I met Max Szczurek, who runs Amco Motor Sales in Port Richmond and who goes to at least one auction a week, as do a handful of other auto dealers. After hearing my tale, he explained that unless it was seriously damaged, a 2000 Honda would always get strong bidders because of its relative newness — especially if it ran. People will bid for parts so "it doesn't really matter what condition it's in."

The reality of Szczurek's words hit home right before my eyes. In the heat of the auction, as the auctioneer babbled into his megaphone, two men furiously bid away on an ugly little rusted out '91 Honda Civic: red and white racing stripes, bald tires and tattered seats. The kind of car you'd think wouldn't be worth much. The auctioneer rattled on faster and faster as the price rose, back and forth, "fourteen, nowdoIhavefifteen, howaboutsixteenhundred. DoIhavesixteensixteen, nowgimmeseventeen. Seventeen noweighteencanIgeteighteen ..."

The men were inexplicably determined to win. They just kept their hands in the air as the price wafted higher and higher. Finally, somewhere around $2,600, one of them dropped his hand and shook his head no; it's not worth that much. Sold.

The moral of the story? If you had a '91 Honda Civic that was recently towed away by the PPA, read the letter they sent. You probably have a check waiting for you.

(editorial@citypaper.net)