The simple pleasures of parking

My car Bella. (Okay, fine - a googled pic of my car model.)

I love my car and I guess I would say I enjoy driving her for the most part. If the conditions are right - meaning I know where I am going (rare), it is not rush hour, the sun is out, it is a free XM radio trial period and the temperature inside my car is comfortable - I would say it is probably #92 on my top 100 list of favorite things to do.

I usually say "I hate driving" but let's be clear - driving is not the true root of my car tension. The terrible luck arises when I get to my destination, slow down the wheels, peel open my eyes and attempt to stop my vehicle in a specified location - yes people, I am referring to the act of parking. Sounds trivial, but parking is the bane of my existence. You may not quite understand how such a simple everyday activity could cause me so much anxiety, but that just means you have not experienced the numerous parking woes that I have in life / you're not my real life friend since I talk about this all the time.

JENNY

I am actually skilled at nestling my car perfectly into its spot when it comes to scenarios of the "normal parking space" variety - we're talking malls, grocery stores, my apartment complex, etc. However I have come to find cool places = horrible parking options. [Basically, I just wish I had a golden parking spot that was housed in an alternate universe that appeared to me upon my arrival. Or, better yet, I wish I had a magic carpet or a teleportation device.]


Here is the true equation of how things go terribly wrong: 
1. Trying to find a parking spot
[leads to....]
2. Leaving my car parked in sketchy locations / Praying I don't get towed or caught up in a drive-by shooting
[which in my case equals....]

Rude.

Parking violations: I think I am being watched by the parking police / they have secretly bugged my "path" account and know my every move, because I am extremely prone to parking violations. Let's talk about the parking ticket I got when I accidentally identified the wrong downtown parking lot for one of my doctors. As if the rushing, driving and walking a mile through the building just to get to the office during the lunch rush was not enough, let's slap a nice yellow ticket right on my car as a thank you for waiting 30 minutes to get my blood drawn.

Or perhaps we should converse about the unlabeled Hollywood Disco parking spot (back in the days when HD was still kicking it) that apparently was not for da club. I turned the corner to head back to my car and before my eyes, 30 feet in the distance was my girl being hauled up the back of a tow truck. I flocked toward her, begged, cried a little and pleaded with the man to give me back my car. That was not working, and without big boobs to push together, I resorted to the bribe - 30 bucks later, he finally lowered her down with a warning.

Validation nightmares: Public service announcement: when you are blessed enough to have your parking validated - don't screw it up. Make sure you save your parking garage ticket - it is not a wrapper for your gum. Then make sure you keep track of the validation. Then, when you get to the pay station, do not listen to the people who told you how to conduct the validation steps, because most of the time they are wrong. Instead, read the fool proof directions on the pay machine for a successful clearance. Otherwise, you will end up paying anyways... which has happened to me. A lot.

Parallel parking mishaps: Enough said. I know I have a back up camera and therefore no excuse, but it is a skill I simply have not mastered. Sue me.

Dealing with other people who don't know how to park: Taking up two spaces or parking too close resulting in banged up doors and scratches are just some of the everyday happenings I come across. However, it gets worse than simply car door battle scars. The other day (the event that inspired this post) I had come to a show perfectly early, got a premiere parking spot in the approved and free lot, and was pleased with my parking experience. As I came out to exit, however, the entire lot was blocked in by a car that parked along the opening, leaving an extremely tight space between him and a properly parked car. I had literally no way out, and no way to know how to get in touch with the person whose car it was. So, I eye-balled the space myself, and with my heart pounding, inched my way through the space. I prayed, and for once, the parking God's heard me. I got through without a scratch or a tap - but the situation alone merited a Valium.

Yep, he definitely wants my money. Nope, that's not my car.

In the end, this leads to my piggy-bank-breaking solution: Complimentary valet parking: aka - turning your keys over to a man probably on speed so he can blast your music and joy ride your car - and potentially misplace your key-less ignition key somewhere in your dash. [True story.] Also, this experience is not so complimentary if you want to have good karma in your life. But, since valet is the best alternative to finding a magic carpet, I do this a lot and those two-buck tips add up.

Now maybe you can understand a little bit of my parking rage, and perhaps sympathize when I call you stressed out because I'm late (which I am NEVER late) because I can't find a place to park.  It's not my fault. I'm cursed.