nyc parking

I am so needlessly, senselessly proud of myself. When I walk out of my apartment building, my car is 20 feet from the front door. Do you know how few New Yorkers can say that? We all know most people aren't foolish enough to have a car in the city. That's not the point here. The point here is my Spot. If it weren't 29 degrees and snowing, I would sit on my front stoop and gaze at my perfect Parking Spot. I didn't do anything to earn this Spot. I just drove by at the right time.



On second thought, maybe I do deserve this Spot. You know, the whole Karma thing. Chances are in the last couple of years I've done something good. I remember standing in the express line at Zabar's with 18 items (limit is 10) and allowing someone with two items to cut in front of me. She had to cast several nasty looks my way first, but nevertheless, I let her in. I always allow people in the elevator before me (in case it plummets to the basement.) It's perceived as a good deed, regardless of intent. Clearly, I deserve this Parking Spot and I suspect I'll be getting it a lot more in the future if all is right with the universe!



This Parking Spot even gave me an opportunity to teach my son a life lesson. Yesterday, when he and I walked out the door for school, he skips straight to the car. "This is awesome, Mom!" he says, as he pointlessly pulls on the door handle. I stand back and agree, thinking about all that Karma I've sent out.



"I know, can you believe it?" I hand him my cell phone. "Take a picture of me with My Parking Spot. Then let's get to the subway."



"Mom, are you loco? The car is right here! It's snowing so much I can barely see you."



"If you think I'm losing this Parking Spot to take you 30 blocks to school, you're the one who's insane. This Spot is good for 26 more hours. This Spot represents Utopia to me. Do you understand this? I mean, Utopia, with a capitol U." My hands take on a life of their own, as they rise to the heavens. "Do you know the last time I got this Parking Spot? Before you were born! Are you walking away from me? Are you running away from me?"


Perhaps my voice did escalate an octave or two while I was spewing and gazing at My Spot. "I see you've decided the subway is the best route after all," I yell, as he's half way down the block from me and My Spot.


His life lesson that day was public transportation isn't so bad.


Having a car in NYC is crazy and stupid. Yeah, and maybe it drives the owner to act crazy and stupid too. But it's a choice I embrace.



My kids have their PSP's and DSI's. Well, I have a game too. It's TPG (The Parking Game.) It starts when I'm in my car. I gaze down the street. Both sides are solid with parked cars. I'm focused. No radio or cell phone to distract me. I AM Lee Majors and Inspector Clouseau fused into one. My bionic eye scans the people on the sidewalk. Clues are everywhere IF one knows how to see them. Does that pedestrian have an have overnight bag slung over his shoulder? Is he jingling keys in his pocket (or playing with something else)? Is that woman shouting into her cell phone, "I'm going to the Hamptons if I can find my gawd damn car. Do you remember where I parked it??"



Once I spot my victim (I mean person with car keys), I slow down and stalk him like a lion in the Serengeti. I can smell my success. My victim picks up his pace. He jerks his head around and peers down the street. He's nervous about something. He pulls his keys from his pocket, jumps into his car, reves the engine. I turn on my blinker as an indicator to other drivers behind me, "I got this spot. Keep mov'in!" The nervous driver gives me a big wave and smile as he guns his car out of the space. I line my car up to pull in. I get half way into the spot when I see it. A Fire Hydrant! That Dirtbag was parked at a fire hydrant. No wonder he was in such a hurry to leave. He was worried about getting a ticket.


As I pull out, another driver is waiting for my spot, unaware of the futility of it. I give her a big wave and smile as I peel out!



Such is life in NYC!