I started timing my errands to when I thought one of the regular parking-space thieves would not be in the neighborhood. But I invariably got it wrong. I could leave for three minutes and when I returned, there, in my spot, would be
Maryland or
Virginia.
Parking isn’t any better in the city at large. On weekdays in D.C., it’s illegal to park on most downtown streets from 4 p.m. till 6:30 p.m. By 6:31 p.m., every single vacant space is taken. No matter what time we want to eat, I strategize to arrive near the restaurant at exactly 6:20. I hover in a driveway or side street, then, at 6:29, I pounce.
I tried flaunting the law a couple of times, pouncing at 6:27, but if ever there were an argument for efficiency in government, it is the parking police. It’s like they’re wearing the invisibility cloak from
Harry Potter. They are nowhere to be seen. Nowhere. You park illegally. And, bam, there they are, slapping a ticket on your windshield. Not long ago, we moved to the suburbs.
Ahhhh, I dreamed, like a man lolling in a shaded hammock on a summer afternoon,
my own driveway. And it is true, I do have a driveway. But I also have a front door. And everybody seems to want to park on the curb directly in front of it. Just like in the city.
I’m tellin’ ya, urban-dweller, suburbanite, it doesn’t matter, parking is the unsung issue of the 2004 election.