As I had a row through my car window with another driver last week, it occurred to me that finding parking spaces, and claiming them as our own, can turn us all into animals.
On that particular day, I needed to stop at the George Town Post Office. There are a few coveted short-term spots right alongside the building, and as I rounded the corner, I spied that one was available. It was located between the front kerb and a car, so the only way to enter it was to reverse. I turned on my indicator – announcing my intention to parallel park – drove slightly beyond the space, put my car in reverse, and started to back into the spot. Immediately a vehicle came right up the back of me and started leaning on their horn. There was no way to explain to them what I was doing, if it wasn’t clear already, so I had to sit there with my nose in the road until they drove around me. Sure enough, their window was down and they were ready to have it out, so I got in first.
“Do you not understand the concept of parallel parking?!” I yelled. “Do you not know how it works?”
They barked back something unintelligible over the noise of the traffic, although nothing about their manner indicated that they were accepting they were in the wrong and I should have a lovely day.
“Learn how to drive!” I bellowed at their rear bumper, while at the same time trying to complete my manoeuvre before further unpleasantness ensued. (In fairness, as I write this, I think of the number of times I’ve messed up when I’m driving and am wondering if I should throw stones in such a public forum.)
Obviously, neither of us were at our best on that day, but it made me think of how something as simple as parking can make or break a person’s spirit.
Hands in the air: How many of us feel a rush of excitement when we drive into a lot and see a prime parking space ripe for the taking? As someone who drives a Ford Expedition – the lovechild of an F150 and large couch – I’m always looking for roomy spots, where I don’t have to rearrange my rib cage in order to squeeze out through a driver’s door unable to fully open. I swear, I’d park at A. L. Thompson’s every day, even without going into the store, just to luxuriate in those wide spaces. I guess a company that caters to construction businesses can’t really afford to be unable to accommodate anything larger than a Kia Picanto.
On the other hand, there are shopping centres I’ll avoid like the plague if I possibly can (I won’t name-and-shame) because it’s like driving into a Chinese finger trap. It’s easy to initially enter, but the further you go in, the more stuck you become in turning areas that are too tight and vaguely marked one-way systems. To add insult to injury, it’s only a sea of narrow spaces as far as the eye can see. Yes, you might fit your car in a slot, but no, you won’t be able to physically exit your vehicle.
Then there’s the branded spot. If you see what appears to be the perfect space for you and it’s actually empty, odds are good it is designated for the handicapped or a particular company. I’ve made my way around an unfamiliar lot for about 20 minutes to find that the only unmarked or ‘visitor’ spots are in a far corner near the garbage skips, and that’s after many false starts pulling into, and reversing out of, blocks with ‘reserved’, ‘JBLZ Ltd’, ‘Mustard & McCallum’ and so forth on them.
Whether or not we realise it, we all have our particular criteria when it comes to parking. It’s like public restrooms; some favour the end stalls, while others always head for the middle.
First and foremost, as we pull into a lot, whether it’s here, the US or elsewhere, the real estate closest to the main doors is the most prized. I was going through a period of exercising every day, walking back and forth in the office to keep my steps up, and swimming in the pool in the evenings, but I would drive lazy circles around Foster’s Camana Bay until something opened up that wasn’t more than two lampposts’ distance from the shop’s entrance. Then, once I’d finally cut the engine, locked the doors and started making my way to the building, I’d see a closer spot open up and, for a fraction of a moment, I’d consider… No, I won’t even admit it. Ridiculous.
I always go headfirst into a space. I’m putting shopping in the back of my SUV, so it just makes sense. Best friend Lynne is the complete opposite. She’d reverse into a space, even if she was the only car in the lot. I don’t understand it.
Some like to park beside a kerb. I get it, there’s a certain undefinable cosiness to it. Besides, one less chance of someone parking next to you smacking your car door with theirs.
The final two characters I’d like to recognise as I wind down on this fascinating subject are The Space Keeper and The Space Hunter (maybe new roles for Rick Moranis and Sigourney Weaver?). The Space Keeper is the person who is clearly leaving the lot, but takes their time to put their bag on the seat, adjust their air-conditioning, check their hair in the rearview mirror, and scroll through radio stations until they find a favourite artist, before finally clicking their seatbelt and shifting into reverse. All the time, The Space Hunter has their indicator on, waiting in the middle of the lot, holding up multiple cars behind them, determined to wait the Keeper out. It’s a vehicular game of chicken.
I’ve been a Hunter, and it’s no fun. My eyes zero in on the rear of their car, willing those white lights to suddenly come to life, well aware of the fact that I’m inconveniencing people behind me. Sometimes my patience (and others’ impatience) has been rewarded. Other times, I’ve had to give up and drive on, only to see the Keeper make a move seconds afterwards. The day is instantly ruined.
Here’s my question: Do these Space Keepers do it deliberately? Do they know they are dragging out the situation, or are they oblivious? On the other hand, are they really obligated to vacate their spot as quickly as possible, or is that everybody else’s problem? It’s like lingering at a restaurant table even when the meal is done, and there are reservations waiting. I bet you can’t wait for my column on that subject.
There are those who would say life’s too short to get upset over such minor things; live and let live, and all that.
I say, wait until you’ve had to complete 47 three-point-turns to get out of a space, then talk to me.
Related Videos
