My Affair With a Parking Stall

The route I took that morning was as deserted as a rappers child. Even the wind felt awkward, blowing ever so lightly, tippy toeing through the leaves of sleepy trees, as if to say that I shouldn't be here. I drive up to my work building that Saturday morning only to pick up my dress shoes but got something much more. My swipe card granted me access to the underground parking, an area that I’ve only been in a hand full of times. As the gears on the wide parking lot doors grinded I swore I heard the choir of angels welcome me. This is where the big boys play. I pull my truck in slowly. The lot was empty.

Like a shopping cart, my big, black truck pushed through the aisles, until I spotted the perfect parking stall. It situated right next to the elevators that would take me to my floor and was also adjacent to the exit ramp. Beautiful. Perfect. It must belong to one of the high level managers of the company, or the king of awesome town. Definitely not for a writer/musician like myself. I can picture him now; blackberry, blue tooth, sharp suit, strong voice, rich, and probably a gold crown and maybe even a septor and grillz. But today the stall sits, useless in a sense. Timidly, I pull into the spot.

It’s just a parking spot; just cement and paint but it also made me feel like someone special. I got out of my truck and turned on the alarm from my beat up controller that dangled from my keys. I stepped back a little, just to enjoy the view. There it was, my truck with its broken tail light, its big dent on the side that mysteriously came to be over the course of one night, its countless stretches and deformed rear bumper, parked in the best spot in the lot. Maybe I should have washed it before parking there. Then again, maybe it was just the way it should be.

I don’t know if it was just not worth thinking about or if my happiness was keeping me from it, but it only dawned on me when I was back in the parkade, moments later, that it was over. Monday morning would come and this very spot would be occupied by a shiny Escalade or Mercedes. The little oil leak that my truck left behind would be dry by then and nobody would ever know that it had parked there to begin with.

My affair with the parking stall was brief to say the least and I guess life is full of moments like that. It may seem trivial to you and you’re probably questioning why I would even waste so many paragraphs on something like a dirty, old parking spot but I’ll tell you this, if anything in life makes you feel something, whether it be happiness or heart break, it’s worth speaking of.

I drove through the crowd parkade that Monday morning just for old time sake, glancing ever so slightly at the stall that made my heart skip, and saw a polished mint conditioned, summer driven only, Mustang comfortable claiming its territory. My truck shook like it was going to stall so I had to give it some gas. I’ll admit, there were day dreams that involved me winning some parking lot lotto and getting that parking stall for life but seeing as how I’m behind the wheel of a moving truck, there were no time for dreaming now.

The gears grinded together to pull the doors open for me to leave the parkade, sun light hitting my eyes and highlighting the flaws of my big black truck. I put my sunglasses on and turned the music up. Tupac’s I Ain’t Mad at Cha fills the atmosphere.

Cause I ain't mad at cha. Do yo thang girl.

(play song.....now)