Under the DC codes, there are more than 79 reasons you can get a parking ticket and in DC, with an average of 2.9 tickets issued every minute, it is a $180 million-a-year business.

If you drive in DC, chances are you’ve probably gotten a ticket or two.  And if you were wise you’d probably fought them in Traffic Court, and got your ass handed to you.

Wayne Manigo has gotten a fair share of those tickets — mostly at 14th street where he held most of his gigs — where if you were late by even a minute, parking enforcement would be across the street inputing your tags into their handheld devices. At one time he owed several hundred and in jeopardy of getting his car booted — so I invited him to dine at the Caribbean Citations.

“Luv Caribbean Bro — I’m half Jamaican myself — but right now I’m not tripping on spending any George Washingtons until I pay off these damn tickets.

“Hear you Big Man. Lunch is on me, and please bring those violations.”

When Wayne arrived he was greeted immediately by a cop. “What they got a warrant for my arrest now?”

Thankfully, it was Constable Mike Sterling that is, dressed in cop attire replete with a faux police badge.

The Citations served mouth watering Jamaican food.  But their unique proposition was that if you showed your parking ticket, they would provide a 10% discount off your entire meal. Additionally you can enter your citation for a monthly raffle to win $100.

“This is terrific, thanks for bringing me here. I’ve got enough tickets to eat here for the rest of the week.”

“Will it be curry or jerk or both?” 

* * *

A few months later, I was resting at home in what I would hope to be a quiet Friday evening, taking a break from a hard week of grinding. Suddenly what at first seemed to be a friendly message on Facebook made me spit out my drink:

Jeff Bishop was installing an expansion tank to my water heater in the basement utility room next to clothes dryer.   As he continued to braze, he inadvertently allowed the flames to reach the ceiling.  Jeff didn’t check, what was above the ceiling – heavy lint due to a partially clogged dryer vent.  He was wearing a respirator, so he didn’t breathe in the metal vapors expelled into the air.  But it wasn’t the vapors that would become a huge concern, it was the smoke from the scorching lint that within seconds started to blaze.  Within minutes the kitchen floor above started to burn uncontrollably and Jeff rushed to get everyone out of the house.

When I arrived to Fifth and Lebaum, I was met by 2 firetrucks, but thankfully no ambulances. My tenant Mariah was bawling and shrieking and somehow, it was all my fault.  

“I’m soooo sorry about this. Let me find out from Jeff what happened,” I requested.

“It wasn’t my fault,” Jeff pleaded. “I didn’t see the lint above the ceiling.”

“You can’t go inside,” the fire investigator ordered. “The entire house is a crime scene.”

“But I didn’t do it on purpose sir. Didn’t know that the ceiling was full of lint. If it wasn’t there nothing would have caught on fire.”

Soon the Red Cross showed up and discovering that there were up to 10 adults and a handful of kids who had suddenly become displaced took down names and IDs and began to book rooms at the Fairfield Inn on New York Ave, NE.

The damage was rather minor, but the kitchen floor had to be replaced along with new countertop and cabinets.  Meanwhile Mariah and her extended family stayed at the hotel for weeks without a way to prepare food.

We were back at the Caribbean Citations cashing in on our recent tickets when I shared this news to Wayne and Mike.

“Please share with her my phone number. I’ve attended culinary training at the DC Central Kitchen. Let her know that I’d be happy to prepare a large meal for her family,” Wayne requested.

“And come by the restaurant tomorrow right before closing, we’ll hook them up with what’s left over,” Mike commanded.

When I showed up to Mike’s eatery Sunday evening, he was already preparing large styrofoam containers of chicken curry, jerk chicken and oxtail over rice.

We thought Mariah and her family would be thrilled to see us.  So we were surprised when we received a not too warm welcome.

“What is this junk. My family and I don’t eat this garbage.”

“It’s wholesome Caribbean cooking,” Mike responded. “My cooking gets rave reviews all over town, so I hope this warm meal will soothe your soul.”

“And please call Wayne. He’s happy to prepare you a large home-cooked meal, whatever you’d like him to make.”

“We don’t accept no charity.  There’s a Mickey Dee’s and a Popeyes across the street. They accept food stamps, so we’re good.”