City Guy In The 'Burbs

Episode Three

One of the biggest differences between the city and the 'burbs is parking.  In the city parking is a sport.  In the 'burbs parking is a misnomer.  Let me explain.  In the city parking is a competitive activity and every motorist is potentially your opponent.  Too many cars are vying for too few spots.  There are winners and there are losers. On the other hand, in the 'burbs there is no such thing as parking in the traditional sense.  There, when you've reached your destination, you don't "park" your car (you know, in the road, parallel and close to the curb) in as much as you guide it between a pair of lines typically in a large lot and shut off the ignition.  I'm sorry, but that's not parking.

Really, this is one subject in which I truly know what I'm talking about. 

You see, when I was getting my driver's license in the Bronx, my father would take me out on the road and, with drill sergeant rigor, thrust me into some fairly intense situations.  Baptism by fire kind of stuff.  Early on I drove on busy roads like Castle Hill Avenue, Tremont Avenue, Fordham Road, and the mother of all hazardous thoroughfares -- the Cross Bronx Expressway -- which is also the abandoned car capital of the U.S. (motto: If you're takin' the tires, I got the battery).  In those early driving days, I remember being petrified to change lanes as I simply could not get used to judging distances when looking through the rear and sideview mirrors.  When Gary Larson drew his famous cartoon showing an enormous eyeball in the sideview mirror with the caption Objects In Mirror Are Closer Than They Appear it captured the real fear that held hostage the part of my brain responsible for driving skills (the vehicular cortex I think it's called).

Each driving lesson would end with my father directing me around our neighborhood and pointing out spots into which I had to wedge.  Since my father was nothing short of fanatical about his car's appearance, when even a centimenter scratch would send him over the edge, this was tremendous pressure.  I swear to God the spots he picked out were no more than about four inches longer than the length of the car.  And these spots were not on desolate streets.  They were narrow and plagued with almost constant traffic.  With sweat beading on my brow, I would perform the classic parallel parking maneuvers -- rear in at 45 degree angle, reverse cut the steering wheel, straighten out -- and somehow, I can't remember how, get that oversized Chevy Impala (a big car back then) into the spot.  Relief would wash over me until the next lesson when the target spot my father selected would be even smaller than the last one I had mastered.

So, parking in the city doesn't faze me.  On the contrary, I look forward to it.  In fact, if I don't get into a spot and leave the car within six inches of the curb on the first try, I consider it a failure and have a hard time sleeping that night.

Which brings me back to the 'burbs.  I live in a pretty ordinary suburban/rural community.  Lots of open space and freestanding homes with driveways.  In the twenty-three years I've lived here I've never had to look for a parking spot.  Never.  There are plenty of places to put your car.  Actually, a large section of our downtown is, in essence, a string of contiguous parking lots.  Every retail establishment in what you might call, with a stretch, the central business district has its own parking area, typically right in front.  This creates a peculiar situation where all the stores are recessed from the road, many by one hundred feet or more, so that it is impossible to tell what they are.  Not only is this bad for business (pedestrians on the sidewalk need binoculars to read the signs over the doorways), but, since there is no way our population can fill all these spots, it makes the town look deserted.  The good news is, if the NFL ever wants to locate a new franchise in our town with a massive new stadium, we won't have to worry about what to do with the influx of vehicles.

I could go on, but I think you get my point. 

Finally, remember those Larry Bird/Michael Jordan MacDonalds commercials where they are playing horse to win a Big Mac?  Trading the basketball between them, they are calling out the shots, each one more ridiculous than the prior one.  Over the highway.  Through the window.  Off the backboard.  Et cetera.  Well, if there were an equivalent parking game I would save this for my final challenge.  Downhill on a very steep grade.  Tight spot between luxury cars.  In Volkswagon Beetle.  Fogged windows.  Standard shift.