Parking as a Sport

Finding a good parking spot is like a sport. There’s the jockeying for position, patience, impatience, cursing, the thrill of victory, and the agony of defeat.

The other day, I was in full game-day mode when I thought I’d scored with the best spot on the lot. It was just past the row of handicap signs. “Today is our lucky day!” I almost sang to my wife as I turned the steering wheel, only to see a strange sign I’d not seen before: It had a picture of a stork on it with a swaddled baby in its beak. “What the…?” I uttered.

The sign said “Reserved for Expectant Mothers.” Now the Oxford Dictionary defines expectant as: Having or showing an excited feeling that something is about to happen, especially something good. So I tried to talk Alex into it. “You’re excited to be here today, right?” “Maybe you’re expecting? I mean, ya’ never know?” But she wasn’t buying my game-day logic. We ended up in the back row near what had to have been employee parking. Unless you’re employee of the month of course, then you’re up front with the expectant mothers.

The rules of the game have changed. Along with the stork and other newcomers, we’ve now got “Hybrid” parking and “Electric Vehicle” parking, for example. Now I own a Hybrid, so I’m always happy to get that spot, but a small part of me feels like I just played a game resulting in a tie. I didn’t really earn that spot through my cat-like reflexes, brilliant hand-eye coordination or freakishly-wide peripheral vision now did I?

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