“Chicago Parking” is a story about my first experience of parallel parking in Chicago. Fortunately, I was just an anonymous observer. I have to say, when it comes to humorous parking anecdotes, I think this experience of Chicago parking is my favorite.
Chicago Parking
It was the type of day that you begin to dream about after living in Chicago for any amount of time. Early September, and warm enough to open all the windows. You could walk around in a t-shirt and shorts, but it was cool enough to walk around in jeans (which everyone does anyway). The sky was so perfectly blue that it looked airbrushed, and the wisp or two of cloud carried no threat of rain. But that’s one of those little things you begin to understand about Chicago: Don’t ever think you’ve got the weather figured out. The second you do, she’ll change it just to spite you. So you simply learn to enjoy the good days when you have them. It was on that perfect day that I learned the Zen of Chicago parking.
I had opened the window to let in the perfection that is Chicago on one of these days. Perfect breeze washed over me. I could hear the buzzing of bees storing up honey for winter. In the tree just across the street there were sparrows chasing each other through the branches. Having just settled down with a book and a cup of coffee, I was about to promptly forget the book and check my email. Suddenly, I heard what could only be described as a minor collision.
I jumped to the window to see what was happening. A gentlemen was attempting to “park” his car on a street that I’m pretty sure was already doing double time as a parking lot. I was sure the only way to fit his car into any leftover space would be to remove both bumpers. However, he continued to cram his BMW into what could, only generously, be called a parking spot. I hadn’t been in Chicago for more than 4 hours, and the windy city was showing me that the wind isn’t the only thing that blows. The other car was a very shiny, very new-looking Lexus. However, it wasn’t my Lexus, and I didn’t have any plans, so I settled in with my coffee, eager to be enlightened.
The impact I had heard was the two license plates colliding, being compressed between two goliaths of rubber and metal, and then warping and twisting as they pulled away from each other. It was far louder than I would have expected, and I was shocked that no one else in the neighborhood was staring out their window, soaking in this carnage, as I was. Alas, the driver could not fit his steed into the chosen spot, and it seemed like he was pulling away and going to move on. I sighed, and sat back down to resume ignoring my book, and took another sip of coffee.
CRUNCH!
The horrendous sound reverberated off the buildings again, screeching through the window louder than before. I sprang to the window again, showering myself in Starbuck’s finest dark roast. Ok, Ow! Hot coffee is no laughing matter. Anyway, I made it to the window in time to see the driver pulling into a final stop, victorious where I would have failed. The Lexus rocked back into place on its wheels. I was staggered, dumbfounded (and soaked)! I didn’t think it was possible. I stood watching as the driver disembarked his vehicle. He closed the door, fixed his jacket and walked around the corner and off into the sunset. He never looked back. And then I understood. This man, this “Zen master” of parking had taught me the truth of Chicago parking.
There is no Lexus.
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