I’ve said before that I can’t park.
Parallel is ridiculous. Good thing I didn’t have to demonstrate to get my license.
But the only place where I must parallel park is my Yoga class. But I’ve worked it out. I wait by the fire hydrant for the previous class to get out. I wait for at least three people to leave. Then I can drive up and pull in.
Once, I got to the street just a bit too late. The previous class was gone, but everyone from my own class had beat me to the spots. There was one spot left. I had to park between two other cars. Actual parallel parking! And I did it! I felt a higher sense of accomplishment from parking than from the Yoga. But I never intend to do it again.
In regular, that is, sane, parking lots, I can pull into a spot – as long as it’s not too small. I find I can pull in better turning left into a spot than right, so I often drive around a right-turn spot so I can approach it from the other side. I have to back out in the same direction from which I approached. The tires seem to have a turn memory that works better.
I don’t usually have a problem backing-out, so I am mystified by this recurring nightmare I have. I dream I am backing out and I can’t stop. I back out right into the car in the row behind me. And I keep going. Hitting everything backwards. If you are a dream-interpreter, please explain.
Last year I took my mother to the doctor, and when we left, the cars on either side of me had parked so close I could not turn. Which wouldn’t have been too terrible a problem, except that I couldn’t back straight out, because an asshole had parked parallel against the building, not leaving me enough room to get fully out without turning. Which I couldn’t do because of the other assholes who believe that as long as the mirrors aren’t kissing, they’ve given you sufficient space. My mother had to stand and guide me back and forth and back and forth and back and forth… about sixty zillion times. That is embarrassing when your mother is approaching her ninetieth birthday. I told her: “Don’t ever drive here yourself!” Not so much because she could never manage to park, but because I was afraid she could, and I would be further humiliated.
But despite these admissions of my parking shortcomings, there is one place where I excel.
I never had a garage before we moved into this house nine years ago. And although I was at first intimidated by pulling in and out without hitting the actual garage, I have now had years and years of practice. In and out I glide every day. Sometimes several times a day.
My husband likes to wave Bye-Bye as I leave.
But he has this really funny wave.
He holds his hands up in a parallel position.
And they seem to become slightly directional as I back out.