No, seriously. I'm usually pretty good at it. One or two times backing up and I'm in. Easy-peasy.
Usually.
Which makes the parking atrocity of Friday so puzzling.
It all started on the North Side. I picked up my friend, Dennis at the Science Center, and headed over to the Modern Cafe on a narrow, two-lane road with parking on both sides. I spotted a sizable space to plop Rita, and proceeded to do my Thang. But my Thang wasn't having any of it. My Thang booked passage on a cruiser heading anywhere but right here where I needed that crazy-ass bitch.
First try: I hit the curb at a sharp angle.
Second try: a little less sharp, but still sticking as far out in traffic as though a toddler was behind the wheel.
Third... Fourth... Fifteenth try.
Suddenly every yinzer in a three-mile radius was zooming down the narrow street, while this ginormous, ginger asshat was blocking traffic with her ineptitude. Even Dennis was like, "WTF, man? I've seen you do this a thousand times."
Finally, a driver pointed to a car leaving a space large enough to dock the Millennium Falcon. I honked my appreciation, and confidently whipped Rita into place. I got this bad boy now, right?
WRONG!!
Not even close. I mean, a fucking one-armed lemur with an eye patch could have wrapped this up faster than me.
WHAT THE FRENCH, TOAST??!?
J'accuse, Menopause!*
* from now on, I'm using this as my go-to excuse for all the untoward happenings, decisions, or inabilities that pop up, whether menopause related or not
Meanwhile, during the time I'm making a Goddamn career out of stowing my hot wheel, the guy who showed me the gargantuan spot parked his semi in one go, talked to his friend a bit, paid the parking meter and was heading to a restaurant while I was clearly struggling with the mathematical principles of some sort of parking Pythagorean Theorem that were slipping my addled brain.
So I had to do it. I had to make eye contact with the lad, because, honestly the entire episode had become ridiculous. The three of us had a gut-busting laugh at my expense. Once he was out of eyesight, I wiped the tears of shame hysteria laughter from my eyes and parked like... an assistant manager.
As the kids' say: Hashtag ParkingFail
Fast forward four hours to my favorite watering hole, Nadine's in the South Side. Friends were met, several drinks were consumed, questionable stories were over shared. When Denise (NOT Dennis in drag) and I got to my car, some major jackhole parked his gross overcompensating-his-little-dick monstrosity perpendicular to me; leaving roughly five feet for me to maneuver out of the lot.
Oh, HELL NOOOOO!!! YOU CAN'T BLOCK ME IN, MOTHERFUCKERS!!*
*actual quote. from my mouth. out loud. in public.
And guess what? I snaked that mutha OUT! Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth until I was parallel to dickless's truck--with an inch to spare-- and weaved backwards through the motherfuckin' lot to the motherfuckin' alley. AND I only urban kissed the car beside me once.
BOOM!
Hashtag LikeABoss
Parking redemption complete. Middle fingers in the air like you just don't care. WhutWhut!!
So, in conclusion, Vodka is my car parking super power, yo. Now give me my damn cape.
