Parking Schmarking
Because Dr. Shed has the garage stuffed with a wild variety of objects, useful, not useful, bizarre, unidentifiable and just a bloody nuisance, we cannot get either of our cars in there. We have to find two parking spots in the street and when we nab ones close to home we become extremely reluctant to move our cars at all, preferring to walk, catch a tram or a taxi or simply stay home.
We try hard to avoid moving both cars at once and if one of us leaves the other lines up behind and zips into the spot quickly so that no passing random grabs it.
The trickiest time is after work. There is a window of opportunity between 5 and 6 when the St. Kilda Road office workers head back to the ‘burbs, and the neighbours arrive home. I never get home before 6 and often have to park illegally. We then spend the evening competing for any spot that opens up. We have a slight advantage over most of our rivals. From our apartment we can see empty places out the window and can hear car doors slam and ignitions start. We react like Pavlov’s dogs: leaping to our feet, grabbing our keys, running down two flights of stairs and dashing across the road, often to be gazumped by a neighbour who lives on the lower floor. When this happens we act nonchalant and pretend we were just going out to collect something from our car so that we don’t look as foolish as we feel.
Some nights we are feeling quite satisfied with the spots we have until one of us makes the mistake of glancing out the window. A spot closer to home represents an irresistible Upgrade Opportunity and we are compelled to dash down again to secure it.
On the weekends the problem is different. The Blow-ins from Baysie arrive to enjoy some of St Kilda’s sophistication which, unfortunately, never seems to rub off on them. It’s maddening to lose a spot to a Bayswater bogan. I much prefer the classier visitors to the Indonesian embassy a couple of doors down. They are very sedate and always go home early and sober.
Then there’s the Grand Prix, the Million Paws Walk and the extraordinary intrusion of the Melbourne Marathon. Don’t get me started.
