The American Parking Lot

THE AMERICAN PARKING LOT

The parking lot where I shop for groceries is like a large inclined chessboard crowded with huge chunky pieces that weigh tons. Inside each of these pieces is angry, frustrated chess player who can’t get out. They got on the board, but now they can’t find a space. Time to run the Parking Lot Game, also known as “Is that green pepper really that necessary?” The Parking Lot was built about 30 years ago, when cars were boring little boxes, a design transition from the enormous flat wheeled platters of the ‘50s and ‘60s. Now, the lot is filled with our version of cars as TANKS. Yes, our cars want to look like they could go to war, and the Parking Lot is one of our battlefields.

 The basic family car unit here in the USA is the SUV, and with the attitude of the frustrated driver within, the true designation is “F.U.V.” which you may be rude enough to figure out…Of course I nicely view that “F” as standing for Futility, that is, “Sport Futility Vehicle.” So you rush along the shrunken alleyways between the rows of family armored personnel carriers looking for a space to put your own conveyance and LOOK THERE’S A SPACE! Here comes the face off. Someone else, at an equal distance, has their eye on that space too. But knock it off, Volvo jockey, I was here first, by at least two seconds. So I am now faced with the geometric problem of fitting a large rectangle into a smaller rectangle which leaves enough room for me to squeeze out of my car without crushing a limb or two. Which means I have to do a 27-point turn, backing up, and back, and up, and back, and up, and watch those parking lot lines on the pavement, they’re there for a reason. You get one foot (that’s 12 inches) on either side of your car which you have somehow managed to leverage in between the Lexus and the Acura wagons. Here we go! Don’t hit any of those giant baby carriages, black armored tanks in which somewhere is a baby, hidden away with the rocket launcher.

I squirm butt-first out of my car, flat against my neighbor, and I go to the market for my healthy, organic, everything-except-the-price low supplies. I drag my recyclable paper bags to the back of my own sportless vehicle. Then I squirm in again, kind of like a fancy wine cork opener. Open the door and it touches the shiny finish of that BMW HOPE THEY DIDN’T SEE ME did I make a mark on their German trophy wagon? Try to back out. Oh Gawd what if I hit the Explorer next to me? The secret about these expensive FUV’s is that they are surprisingly fragile. They are not made of steel. No flaming blast furnace created the chassis or armor of this would-be safari bomber. Its body parts and bumpers are made of plastic. Even if you bump it just a little bit, the plastic can lose its paint coating and crack. Where are those charging rhinos when you need them? At least they’re, like, natural, right? So it’s time to exit. But wait, there’s something in the way. You can’t see it, and you can’t hear it. It slinks along silently until you’ve nearly crushed it, or if you’re walking, it has nearly crushed you. Yes, it’s the Creeping PRIUS. Electricity and gas in an unnerving combination….saved for another later rant. Escaped! Escaped from the Parking Lot of Chaos! But oh no…I forgot to buy the toilet paper!