Parking's such a pain!
I drive a big truck. It’s a twelve-foot-long, white, F-250, super-duty, hard rocking, loud piece of awesome. I love it. It was a gift given to me by my grandfather when I graduated from military school. He gave it to me on two conditions: 1) I graduate from college doing what I love, and 2) I treat it like a Guttenberg bible. This is quite difficult for many a reason, the most common is that I simply don’t have time to wash it every weekend, but it’s okay for it to be a little dirty, I mean, it is a truck, but I’ve learned that keeping dirt off the truck is far easier then keeping dents out. My biggest pet peeve is the fact that no matter where I park my truck, I’m always a foot in the road.
I could go a couple of ways with this. I could claim conspiracy theory. There’s some sort of government conspiracy occurring against big trucks. How is this? Well, who puts the lines down on the streets, and various parking spots? The government does. So, is the government trying to get the world to downsize to more fuel efficient cars by only making spaces that a mo-ped can fit in? I’m thinking maybe so. It’s some sort of attack on the working middle class construction workers, because they usually vote with the union, and the union is politically aligned with conservatives.
The place I usually have the most problem parking is in school and public establishments. We all know that all university systems are breading grounds for liberal think tanks, as said by Rush Limbaugh. So, perhaps it is a liberal conspiracy to get me to drive some sissified electric do-ma-jiggy that gets fifty five miles to a gallon, and helps reduce emissions therefore saving our planet. Good one Mrs. Pelosi, I tip my hat to you in victory, but not respect.
The parking spots around Wilmington are so small that nearly thirty percent of my truck sticks out when I park. This almost guarantees that I’m going to get hit. Honestly, my rear bumper has been replaced three times already. And let me tell you, every time your car gets hit and you’re not there the little, “I’m sorry,” note on the windshield actually means, “I’m sorry…but you have to pay for my mistake.”
Yes, I know what you’re thinking, why don’t you just pull through and leave the bumper hanging over a foot or so in another parking spot and I’m one step ahead of you. Let’s say that Little Miss Sixteen year old is out driving daddy’s car and chatting away on her phone about the new lip gloss that she just spent ninety-five dollars on, and she haphazardly whips her daddy’s beamer into the spot where my truck is hanging over. Believe it or not, the cop doesn’t care that the only way you can park is to have your bumper hanging over in another parking spot. You’re still double parked, which ultimately means, you’re to blame.
Then there’s my lovely apartment building, and by lovely I mean usually the parking spots are covered with some sort of what I can only guess, and hope, is a day old burrito. There are very few spaces that my truck can actually fit in, and they are all situated right next to the dumpster. It’s like fate is telling me that my car is no better then discarded potato peels and old diapers that the dumpster holds. With the space being in such a prime area, you’d believe that I’d always have a place to park, but no. The space is always filled with various hatchbacks from the mid seventies to nice looking Toyota Camry’s. It’s tragic to see these cars, which are one third of the length of my truck, taking spaces that are so clearly indicated for bigger trucks when four spots over is a place specifically painted for them. And when you see this you have to drive all the way around the building and park in Outer Mongolia and proceed to have a twelve minute trek back to your apartment.
I’ve learned one thing though. I may not be able to park in all the same places as a majority of the people in Wilmington, or that I can’t go someplace without calling ahead to see if their parking can suit my needs. It’s not that if I back in I can reduce my risk of being hit. The one thing that I’ve learned is that when those people inevitably are driving on the road and they swerve to avoid getting lipstick on their teeth that when they hit me, I’ll still have that small dent, while their whole car is completely screwed up. So, why I may not be able to park anywhere, I’ll definitely win when it comes to a demolition derby.
I could go a couple of ways with this. I could claim conspiracy theory. There’s some sort of government conspiracy occurring against big trucks. How is this? Well, who puts the lines down on the streets, and various parking spots? The government does. So, is the government trying to get the world to downsize to more fuel efficient cars by only making spaces that a mo-ped can fit in? I’m thinking maybe so. It’s some sort of attack on the working middle class construction workers, because they usually vote with the union, and the union is politically aligned with conservatives.
The place I usually have the most problem parking is in school and public establishments. We all know that all university systems are breading grounds for liberal think tanks, as said by Rush Limbaugh. So, perhaps it is a liberal conspiracy to get me to drive some sissified electric do-ma-jiggy that gets fifty five miles to a gallon, and helps reduce emissions therefore saving our planet. Good one Mrs. Pelosi, I tip my hat to you in victory, but not respect.
The parking spots around Wilmington are so small that nearly thirty percent of my truck sticks out when I park. This almost guarantees that I’m going to get hit. Honestly, my rear bumper has been replaced three times already. And let me tell you, every time your car gets hit and you’re not there the little, “I’m sorry,” note on the windshield actually means, “I’m sorry…but you have to pay for my mistake.”
Yes, I know what you’re thinking, why don’t you just pull through and leave the bumper hanging over a foot or so in another parking spot and I’m one step ahead of you. Let’s say that Little Miss Sixteen year old is out driving daddy’s car and chatting away on her phone about the new lip gloss that she just spent ninety-five dollars on, and she haphazardly whips her daddy’s beamer into the spot where my truck is hanging over. Believe it or not, the cop doesn’t care that the only way you can park is to have your bumper hanging over in another parking spot. You’re still double parked, which ultimately means, you’re to blame.
Then there’s my lovely apartment building, and by lovely I mean usually the parking spots are covered with some sort of what I can only guess, and hope, is a day old burrito. There are very few spaces that my truck can actually fit in, and they are all situated right next to the dumpster. It’s like fate is telling me that my car is no better then discarded potato peels and old diapers that the dumpster holds. With the space being in such a prime area, you’d believe that I’d always have a place to park, but no. The space is always filled with various hatchbacks from the mid seventies to nice looking Toyota Camry’s. It’s tragic to see these cars, which are one third of the length of my truck, taking spaces that are so clearly indicated for bigger trucks when four spots over is a place specifically painted for them. And when you see this you have to drive all the way around the building and park in Outer Mongolia and proceed to have a twelve minute trek back to your apartment.
I’ve learned one thing though. I may not be able to park in all the same places as a majority of the people in Wilmington, or that I can’t go someplace without calling ahead to see if their parking can suit my needs. It’s not that if I back in I can reduce my risk of being hit. The one thing that I’ve learned is that when those people inevitably are driving on the road and they swerve to avoid getting lipstick on their teeth that when they hit me, I’ll still have that small dent, while their whole car is completely screwed up. So, why I may not be able to park anywhere, I’ll definitely win when it comes to a demolition derby.
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