Parking: March 2011

Our move into Sandestin Resort was quite seamless and ALMOST without incident. What follows is The Incident:

The cul de sac in which our cottage is located is named Robin Court. It should be called Vulture Alley! This installment is about parking, territoriality, small-mindedness, and power. Fasten your seat belts, kids. It's going to be a wild ride!

In Robin Court in the peaceful resort of Sandestin in Miramar Beach, Florida there are four cute stand-alone cottages. They are the type of cottages the seven dwarfs would live in if they had good retirement plans and played golf; of course these wouldn't be Disney's seven dwarfs. These dwarfs would have names like Bossy, Nosy, Crabby, and the adorable Screwy.

Before I relate the details surrounding The Incident, let me take you down memory lane. Those of you who grew up in a northeast city might remember the problem of the winter parking space. The plow would come by, cover all the cars with a couple of feet of snow, and you and your brother would be sentenced to an hour of hard labor shoveling out the car. Once the car was freed from its frozen nest, a chair or milk crate or perhaps the aforementioned brother was placed in the spot to hold it until early May or whenever the snow was deemed to have melted.

People have died defending their parking spots. I'm not saying, I'm just saying. Parking has always been an aspect of daily life that makes people crazy.

Back to The Incident. In Robin Court there are six usable parking spaces for the four cottages, an ample number if the inhabitants of each cottage have only one vehicle. Currently, two of the four cottages are two-vehicle domiciles. When you do the math you come up with six vehicles for six spaces.

You are probably thinking that having the exact number of spaces for the number of vehicles is not going to be a problem for anybody. After all, it's a small parking lot and all of the spaces are within easy walking distance to any of the cottages. So I thought the other night when I pulled into the space directly in front of #598 Robin Court. Was I ever wrong, Kemo-sabe!

I was tucked comfortably in bed watching my beloved Celtics on television when I heard a loud knock on our door followed by the annoying clang of our doorbell. After fumbling around for the light switch and stumbling around for my bathrobe, I opened the door. Standing outside in the cool evening air was the dwarf who lives in #598. We'll call him "the dwarf who lives in #598."

"Do you own the tan Malibu currently parked next to #598?" he asked.

"You mean that tan Malibu about 20 feet from us?"

"Yes."

"Well, technically GMAC owns most of it. Actually, they seem to have sold their business to Ally Bank recently, so, to tell you the truth, I don't know who owns it right now. I'm the one who drives it, though."

"You're parked in my spot."

"Excuse me?"

"That's my spot in front of #598 and you've parked in it."

"First of all, it was my understanding that there is no such thing as a reserved or assigned spot, especially this far from Dorchester. Second of all, there is an empty spot right next to where I parked. Couldn't you park there? It's about 18 inches farther from your cottage than your usual spot. If that's too far, I'll be happy to call you a cab."

The dwarf who lives in #598 was not amused.

The next morning, after discussing the matter with Kate, I decided to relocate the car and investigate the parking protocols here at Sandestin. I moved my car completely out of our circle and into a nearly vacant neighboring area called Magnolia Court. I had been told by our realtor, Jason "Don't Ask Me About Parking" Green, that if there were a need to park outside our circle, I could always pick an unnumbered space in Magnolia Court. Certainly, anybody who would choose to live in Magnolia Court would be a neighborly, pleasant individual chock full of southern hospitality and generosity.

"You're going to get a call about parking there," said Kate.

She hadn't even finished the sentence when a member of Sandestin's crack security force called to tell me to move my car.

"But I parked in an unnumbered spot and there were only two cars in the numbered spaces," I stammered incredulously.

"Someone complained," she said.

"Just out of curiosity, did they formerly live in #598 Robin Court?" I asked.

Click.

Obviously, we had encountered the wrath of yet another dwarf, this one southern. We'll call him Billy Bob Bossy.

Kate decided to investigate the parking protocols. Kate's father, Jack, was the head of the Cleveland newspaper guild for many years. She's accustomed to fighting for her rights and was determined to get to the bottom of the parking issue: What was legal and what wasn't in Robin Court. After a few phone calls she was gratified to learn that there were in fact no assigned spaces in our little dwarfdom. It's first come-first served all the way. Park wherever you can find a space and let the chips fall where they may.

A perfect solution for an area that abhors government interference: A Libertarian parking lot.

Today is Day One of the newly-clarified parking order for Robin Court. The policy is posted on the little notice board that stands right next to our parking lot.

We have a stepladder handy in case any of the dwarfs need to climb up to read it.

Ain't life grand?
J