Christopher Street

Fun with Parking

OK, so yesterday, I needed to visit a client site to inspect an install. Since the client is also in Arlington, it took me about 10 minutes to get there, about 2 minutes to inspect the install and about 10 minutes to get back to my office. I was still gone from my office for an hour, though, due to the 30 minutes I spent navigating the parking garage in my client's building.

Having lived in a city for the last 16 years--and having spent the better part of three years in outside sales--I am no stranger to parking garages. Few are all that exciting, most are startlingly utilitarian. This one not so much. This one was more than a little, well, satanic is the word that springs to mind.

First, the outside entrance to the garage isn't on the bottom level or the top level as one typically expects. No, it's smack in the middle, which means that you need to go either all the way down or all the way up for your first pass. if there is no parking all the way down (or up) then you have to reverse direction, going back past all of the un-parking that you have just seen, to get back to the possibility of new parking. If there is no parking up (or down, depending on where you started), you must, once again, go back past all the parking that there wasn't before you get to square one.

OK, so in my case, I chose to start by going down and--of course--there was no parking at all in that direction. So, at the bottom, I did a 180 and headed back up toward the entrance. I was stopped enroute by a parking attendant who asked if there was no parking below. When I assured him that there wasn't, that I wasn't just practicing for some parking garage slalom exhibition for the 2004 games, he suggested that I "try up". Well, der. Glad that you suggested that, there, Parking Attendant Bob*. Without you, I might have just wandered the lower three levels for years. I might have moved in here, Bob, on these lower levels, were it not for your timely suggestion that I continue to look for spaces elsewhere.

So, up I went. I went from full level G3, to full level G2, to full level G1...and then proceeded, well,more up. Up to level 1. Up to level 2. Up to level 3. Up to level 4. Then the garage ended...rather abruptly, actually. There was no place to loop around to head back down. Level 4 was actually a room about the size of my bathroom with about 20 cars parked in it. That 180 was troublesome, especially given that there was someone behind me. But I made it and was on my way back down when I ran back into PABob , who asked if I had found a parking space.

Well, no, PABob. Cause, see, if I had found a space, my car would be in the space and I would be elsewhere. If I had found a space, I wouldn't be, you know, still looking for a space?

It is worth mentioning that 75% of the garage consisted of double-spaces, the sort where someone pulls in to a loooong space and then someone else parks behind them. If you are the behind parker, you surrender your keys, in case someone--Bob, likely--needs to unblock the person that you are blocking. There were a couple of these spaces available, but in all cases, the spaces weren't really deep enough to accomodate the existing car and my truck. So, I had bypassed them, hoping that I would get an actual space of the not blocking someone in variety.

At this point, Bob, apparently feeling that he should be useful, suggested that I park behind a couple of cars, perpendicular to them both. At least that is what I thought he suggested, but once I did that--an elegant solution to the too long car problem--Bob started waiving his arms and yelling that I couldn't park *there*, as I would be blocking both cars.

Again, I say, well derr.

Bob suggests that I just park behind the Volvo. I try to tell him that this won't work, that I will stick out too far but Bob is unswayed by my arguments. I park behind the Volvo. My car is sticking out too far. Bob scratches his head.

I mention that there might have been spaces farther down that were deeper and Bob, suddenly excited, encourages me to go look for one of those.

Thanks for your support, there Bob. I couldn't do it without you.

So, I venture back down a couple levels, wedge myself into a space that is about 12 inches too shallow, and head for the elevator. Whereupon I come across a sign instructing me to leave my keys with an attendant if I am blocking someone in. Now, I know that I am only going to be 10 minutes, but it's lunchtime and I would feel bad if I kept someone from lunch. So I go in search of PABob only to find that he has disappeared. Like witness program disappeared. OK. This is not a problem. I'll just leave the keys in the car. So I do that, leave the car open and head back for the elevator. En route, I spot a call box, marked for those who need the assistance of a Parking Attendant. Thinking that I will be a good person, I lean into the box and say that I have left my keys in my car, in case someone needs to move it.

They react as though I have told them that I have lit some cars on fire, in case someone wanted to toast marshmallows. The connection is bad and the accent coming out of the small box is heavy, but I am able to make out that I must! take! the! keys! somewhere! The implication is that I must take them somewhere besides the front seat of my car.

With the timimg that he is famous for, PABob picks now to make another appearance. Relieved that I don't have to figure out where to take the keys, i go to hand them over to him, only to have him recoil like I have just tried to hand him a leaking container of plutonium. I say, "My keys?" He tells me that I need to take them to the gate. "You know, where you get ticket?"

Christ. OK. I will take the flipping keys to the flipping gate. You know, where I get ticket? I might get a ticket for assault if this keeps up.

I get in the elevator and stare at the buttons. I have 1, 2, 3, 4, L, G3, G2, G1 to choose from. Remembering that I drove into the garage and then drove immediately down to G3, I pick lobby. Mistake. Lobby, in this case means, strangely, lobby. As in of the building. Marble floors and security guards and no ticket in sight.

Back in the elevator. I try G1. G2. G3. None of these is anywhere near where I think I need to be. Screw this, think I. I go back to the lobby, go out the front door, walk down the block, scoot under the gate and walk the keys to the attendent in the booth. I turn to go and am yelled at yet again. "Wait! Wait! We need ticket."

Ticket? What? Why?

Whatever. I reach in my bag, pull out my ticket and hand it to the attendant.

"No, no. You need ticket."

Now I am completely lost. But all clears up as he hands *me* a ticket, I guess such that I can retrieve my keys.

And so it goes. I head back out to the street, up the block, back into the building housing my client, up to the 6th floor, inspect the cabinet--for all of about 2 minutes--back to the lobby, out to the street, over to the booth, reclaim my keys, back to the street, up the block, back into the building, back up the parking elevator and back to my car.

The engine wasn't even cold. I had been away from my car for a total of 10 minutes--and that included the 8 that it took to negotiate the key-for-ticket swap.

In the end, it cost me $4 to park for the 10 minutes. What--you think that you can have this kind of fun for free?

* PABob's name has been changed to reflect the fact that I don't know his real name. :)

Posted by Lori at May 11, 2004 11:24 PM