Driving can be fun, but it can also be hell.
To the former, attribute the winding curves of the Duffy Lake Road on a bright spring morning, with no RVs blocking the view and no cellphone reception so that no one can bother you about all the work you’re supposed to be doing. To the latter, picture eastbound on the Upper Levels at 4 p.m., with two fender benders on the Iron Workers.
In modern times, driving seems less and less about freedom, and more and more about drudgery and suffering. Traffic. Delays. The fact that fuel prices are so much higher here than south of the border. Insurance costs. Left lane hogs. Lunatic speeders. Yet there is one aspect of driving that is worse than all the rest.
The worst thing about driving is parking. Not the act itself: I know you can buy all sorts of cars these days that will automatically parallel park for you, but I feel like if you need such a crutch, you probably shouldn’t have a license.
No, it’s not the slight manoeuvring skill needed in getting into a parking spot, it’s looking for parking in the first place. How many hours of your life are wasted in having to arrive early in order to find a spot? How much time have you frittered away, stalking people back to their cars only to be told, “Oh, we’re not leaving. I just forgot Timmy’s hat.”
Further, every modern parking lot is a Hieronymus Bosch painting of indignity and suffering. Just this week, I parked my car in a far corner of a relatively empty lot, because I’d rather walk than get my door dinged. When I returned, some whale of a well-scraped Buick was sitting right up against my driver’s side, with its wheels well over the line. Cars aren’t Inuit sled dogs, you know – they don’t need to huddle close for warmth.
There are countless other irritants to observe. A V-8 Lexus SUV parked in a stall marked “Hybrid or Low Emissions only.” Dummies in gasoline cars blocking the electric charging stations at MEC. People backing out without looking. Texting pedestrians wandering in front of you like bewildered geese.
I’ve seen it all in parking lots. I’ve seen an elderly man crack open his passenger door, then kick it open right into the side of the car next to him, making it rock on its suspension. I’ve come out to find a confused woman standing beside her Prius, which was high-centred on a concrete rail. The car was in gear, and the wheels were spinning at about 40km/h, with no one at the wheel.
In short, a parking lot is a reminder that every day you get into your car and trust your life to your fellow drivers, many of whom appear to be self-centred morons. It’s a disquieting feeling to think that the person currently performing a 38-point turn exiting their space is the same person you’re trusting not to merge into the side of your car at 100 kilometres per hour.
There’s also the unease to be felt when you see a totally empty parking lot, at night or on the weekend. What a huge amount of wasted space, almost totally useless for anything other than storing cars. There are examples where clever parking lot design has incorporated plenty of trees, which pretties up the place, and makes things feel a little less desperate.
There are also a few other ways you can personally make a parking lot less of a patience-withering slog. Wherever possible, either back into your space or pull through, making for an easier and quicker getaway. A reader also recently wrote in to say that they always used their four-way flashers when reversing out of a spot, which helps alert both cross-traffic and pedestrians – some people might miss the reversing lights, so more warning helps.
Also in the plus column: being reminded first of how competent the average driver is, and second that statistically 50 per cent of people on the road are worse than average, is probably for the best. I almost always come out of parking lots feeling mildly terrified of other drivers, which is a pretty good base level for paying attention. It is, I expect, what it feels like to be a motorcyclist.
However, the other feeling I usually have coming out of a parking lot is probably even more worth listening to. It’s the small voice inside my head asking, “Shouldn’t you have just walked instead?” Probably.
Brendan McAleer is a freelance writer and automotive enthusiast. If you have a suggestion for a column, or would be interested in having your car club featured, please contact him at [email protected]. Follow Brendan on Twitter: @brendan_mcaleer.
