Paradise in a Parking Lot

In the summer of 2006, while I was interning in New York City, I went up to the Hamptons a couple of times to see my good friends Jess and Colin. The woman that Jess was working for, I think her name was Judy, told me in confidence that there was a parking lot in East Hampton that was actually the key to getting anything done in the Hamptons. Just that week she'd seen Christie Brinkley, Dina Lohan (yikes), Steven Spielberg's mother, and Mike Tyson there. She said that sometimes after grocery shopping she would just sit in her car and watch to see who came into the parking lot.

Now, this quick entry is not going to be about how I aspire to loiter in the A-List parking lots of the world. It's just that I have been thinking about parking lots a lot lately (no pun intended). I barely even thought about them during my two years in London. Now, three weeks into my South African life, I am find myself in parking lots, discussing parking lots, fearing parking lots, and - dare I say it - loving parking lots.

I have always had a love-hate relationship with parking lots (car parks for my European friends). As much I as absolutely love my mother, one of the stranger aspects of my childhood was that she would always shut my legs in the car door when I was getting into or out of the car. She wouldn't do it hard - in fact, I'm not sure if the door would ever actually even touch me (I still have full use of my legs, after all). I just think this was her interesting way of making sure I did not waste time in my life. Maybe it worked. One thing that it did do was to instill a fear of parking lots in me from a young age.

This fear was exacerbated by Unsolved Mysteries. I've discussed this with friends before. There were kids that were scared of horror movies and kids that were scared of Unsolved Mysteries. I was an Unsolved Mysteries child. I always watched it with a feeling of discomfort in my stomach - similar to when you witness a fist fight - and would spend the next few days contemplating which killer-on-the-loose or ghost-from-another-time was going to hunt me down and destroy me. For some reason, it always seemed like people that went missing on Unsolved Mysteries were last seen in parking lots. What is with that? Are there lots of people like Judy (above) who sit in parking lots and occasionally spot a celebrity or see a crime in progress?

This was all before I even started driving. Once that happened, a whole new nest of fears was unveiled. Was there someone under my car waiting to razor blade my achilles (whoever started that urban legend should be flogged until the end of time)? Or, maybe someone is waiting in my backseat to kill me but hiding just out of the view? My parking lot "dance" has always been a swirl around the car to look in all windows (from a good distance away to avoid razor action), then a quick opening of the door and feet-in-the-air leap into the driver's seat. I try to have a bit more decorum as a passenger, but one must put safety first.

And then of course there are parking lot break-ups. I have had three. Not breakdowns, as in a broken car. Break-ups as in rip-your -heart-out-and-run-it-over-with-your-damned-little-red-trash-mobile endings of amorous pairings. The most tragic of them was in another Hampton's parking lot (weird, I know - maybe I should do a documentary) and had me sitting in a handicap space crying (sitting on the ground, not even in a car), calling my parents, and begging them to drive the ten hours from Meadville to New Jersey to pick me up (they did, God love them). On my birthday.

The other parking lot break-ups were much more tolerabe. One I can't really remember but it involved a pretty-friendly mutual let's-end-it decision followed by the un-friendly hurling of scrambled eggs in the Perkins parking lot. And the final one was me fleeing the Dollar General parking lot after making some incredibly poor decisions there and never looking back.

Anyways - I can't believe I'm babbling this much about parking lots. There is a point forthcoming, I swear.

In addition to all of these bad thoughts, however, parking lots have always had good vibes for me as well. One of my favourite feelings in the world is when you go into a movie in the evening in the sunlight and then come out into the movie theater parking lot and find that night has fallen. And parking lots have also meant trips to the mall, or thank-God-we're-finally-at-a-rest-stop, or served as a meeting spot with friends because it is closer for both of you or the only common area you can both think of. Parking lots are great because they usually have no allegiances - that's probably why people always exchange hostages/drugs/secret documents there (in the movies, not my life...unfortunately).

Anyways, I've arrived in South Africa and suddenly - pow - parking lots have re-entered my life. At first I thought this was going to be a problem - everyone kept telling me to watch my back in parking lots, otherwise someone could sneak up behind me and steal my keys and my car in a flash. And then kill me for good measure. I was so scared at first that I actually twisted my neck after continuously jerking my neck back to look over my shoulder. I spent my first two days of work down here only able to look to the right.

However, I've come to love the South African parking lots. Perhaps as a reaction to the violence that has happened in parking lots in the past, almost every parking lot I have visited has had tons of wonderful young workers helping drivers to park - they also seem to serve as security guards. The other night, I parked a little far out in the parking lot by my gym. When I returned outside after my workout, it had gotten dark and my car was all alone in a grim dark corner. I was 97% sure that I would meet my end there. However, the nice guy in the parking lot walked with me to my car - I didn't even have to sacrifice my masculinity and ask. I feel like I can usually take care of myself, but I'll be damned if I want to go at it with someone who has a lurking-in-the-dark-carrying-a-razor-blade advantage. No thanks.

Parking lots in South Africa (or at least in my part of Johannesburg) have gone from a potentially scary place to an almost festive place. There's a system of reversing, tipping the young guy who helped you park and watched your car, and zipping off to your next task. It also reminds me of home. I don't know if parking lots are an American thing, but every time I pull into a parking spot I feel like I'm back on native soil. While I'm loving the diversity and excitement of South Africa - and I'm so excited to continue to learn and try new and different things - it is nice to get a reminder of home every once in a while.

There you have it - a frivolous Sunday note on the value of parking lots. I'm off for another trip to the parking lot - I might try and go to the store or something while I'm there.

Mike