Every time our car gets towed from the Chicagoist Happy Hour, we resign ourselves to our fate: a long, expensive ride down to a random city lot somewhere incredibly inconvenient. Endless lines. Administrative hurdles that make tax forms look easy. And sometimes, we're lucky enough to find someone generous enough to give us a quasi-official hearing. We always lose. And then it's ramen noodles again, for months. But at least the hearing made us feel better about the situation.
