Freedom Means I Don’t Pay for Parking

It’s the Fourth of July. America’s birthday. A sacred day of grilling, fireworks, and pretending to understand the Constitution. I pull into a lakeside park for the town’s big celebration—food trucks, live music, and a firework display they promised would “rival Disney” (it didn’t).

A guy in a reflective vest steps up and says, “It’s six dollars to park.”

I blink at him. “I’m sorry, are you charging me to celebrate freedom?”

He gives me a confused half-smile. “Yeah, it’s just six bucks.”

“Oh no no no,” I say. “I already paid for this parking spot with my taxes. And my bloodline. My great-great-grandfather fought in a war… I don’t remember which one, but it had drums and hats and stuff. So technically, I should be getting reimbursed for parking.”

He laughs, thinking I’m kidding. I don’t blink.

“I’m not paying to be patriotic,” I add, now holding up my phone as if preparing to livestream this civil rights moment.

He starts to say something, but I interrupt: “You want me to Venmo six dollars to the same government that bought $1,200 toilet seats for the Pentagon?”

I park anyway.

He says he’s calling security. I say I’m calling my cousin in Congress (I’m not, but he doesn’t know that).

Fast-forward an hour: I’m on the grass, eating a bacon-wrapped hot dog and explaining to two sheriff’s deputies that technically, freedom of movement is a constitutional right. One of them asks if I’ve been drinking. I tell him “only with my spirit.”

In the end, I wasn’t towed. I wasn’t cited. I wasn’t even fined.

Because on the Fourth of July, even the law knows—you don’t mess with Hot Josh’s freedom.