Thursday, September 01, 2005

Parking on Planet Hell: Los Angeles

Parking is impossible in my neighborhood. The only way that it would be more difficult would be if there were simply no parking places at all. While it is practically like that now, there being occupied parking spaces gives you a false sense of hope. I have a few areas where I am usually able to find a spot. In the morning I always have to file through my little brain trying to remember where my car was left the night before. It is the absolute worst when you start walking to your car, only to realize that you left it in the opposite direction. There is a spot up in the Hollywood Hills where I am always able to find a place but it is literally a hike home and a hike the next day when you need to fetch it. I’ve been really lucky that I haven’t gotten any parking tickets since I have been back. I think I gave the City of Los Angeles a few hundred dollars earlier in the year from various parking infractions. Last night I was skulking around my neighborhood around midnight looking for parking. The amount of time I was driving around I could have gone into my nearby Tony neighborhood and schlepped the long walk home. Finally I saw a guy get into his car so I flipped around so I could pounce on it when he left. When he saw me waiting he pointed out his window. . . ????? Then he got out of his car. . . !!!!! I then did something remarkable in its pure level of stupidity. I rolled down my window. He was tall, light brown skin. I couldn’t tell if he was Mexican or Samoan. He had tattoos all along his face, arms and on the parts of his chest I could see peaking above his shirt that read, “Ask Me About My Penis.” I am not making this up. “Ah, girl. How you doing? I was going to go home. But. I’m drunk. I think I’ll sleep it off.” “I think that might be a good idea.” I was trying to estimate the possibilities that he was a serial killer. Tattoos on the face, while disconcerting do not necessarily equal a evil, scary, rapist, murderer planning on cutting my body into easily digestible pieces. “But if you need the spot. Ah, parking here is terrible. Terrible. Once? I shit you not. Once, I waited five hours for a spot. Can you believe that shit?” I told him that yes. Yes, I did believe that shit. “But. Ah, I’ll go home and you can take that spot.” “No, really. I would feel much better if you just slept it off. It would be safer. I’ll be okay” “Ah, girl. You are so sweet.” I tried to flash my engagement ring. “Ah girl. There is a spot that is opening up over there.” I couldn’t see what he was talking about. I nodded that yes, I saw the spot. “You go try to get that spot and if you can’t fit, you promise you come back over here and I will leave. Promise? I promised. “Promise?” I promised. “Okay girl. Good night. You are so sweet.” He stumbled back to his car and I drove away. One thing I will not miss about Los Angeles is trying to find parking in my neighborhood at 12:30 in the morning.

2 Comments:

At 9/01/2005 03:02:00 AM, Blogger Kate said...

It's not just LA. Albany parking can be a real bitch, too. Not looking forward to circling the block endlessly... in the snow... with a kid.

 
At 9/01/2005 03:52:00 PM, Blogger Nicole said...

Ugh. I bet.

 

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