I have a parking garage ritual. The garage in my apartment is incredible - underground, covered, ample spaces. However, the cement walls and cement pillars and seemingly tiny spots give me a run for my goddamn money. I enter the garage, and do a quick loop looking for a spot with an empty one next to it. Easy pull-in. Usually this happens, and I find myself timing my trips off campus so that I return when the garage is barren. It’s absurd.
I have a tiny car. She’s a beauty - relatively new, a lil ritzy, a lot zippy. Every passenger in my car claims I can zip into any old spot. I’m not convinced. She’s got 8 sensors - all of which scream at me with increasing intensity as I approach objects. This should help. It doesn’t.
When the garage is busy, I try dozens of spots. Pulling in a touch, pulling out. Going as far as stepping out of my car to examine distances, looking around quickly to ensure no one is watching.
I, once, absentmindedly asked a man to teach me how to park. I was sick of being a nervous wreck. I wanted to be able to traipse into the garage with abandon and pull into any spot I fancied. I asked, casually. Next time you come over, mind helping me park? Twenty minutes. Tops.
He, of course, agreed quickly. It’s been a month or so since then. My first time dealing with being abandoned without an explanation. I don’t care for him much, or at all, really. Would’ve appreciated a goodbye text, an explanation. I’m angry because I’m not in control. I don’t need the presence, I just want to know that I’m thought of in the absence.
It’s late, for me. 1 am here. I have class at 7. I left the library at 12:25 and spent 25 minutes parking. There was a spot, the kind I like, at the end of the lot. Two spaces, looots of pulling in room. I pulled in, parked, placed my hand on my door handle, and said fuck that. I’m gonna learn today.