Eat Gay Poop

Ian from The Codes took this pic in Philly.

Parking drama in South Philly

I can't believe I haven't told you this story yet. It feels a little weird writing about it, because there's no real beginning or ending. It's just this permanently ongoing bullshit. You could sum it up as 25% frustration, 25% self-entitlement, 10% stupidity, and 40% race war.

I live in a Center City neighborhood where there are rowhomes on both sides all crammed together with no yards or patios or garages or driveways. The only parking available is parallel parking on one side of the street. So there are maybe 20 spots available for 30 houses.

The neighborhood itself is working class. Predominantly African American. And by predominantly I mean there are two white families living on this block, myself included. This little tidbit would really be no big deal if it weren't for the fact that me and my family feel ostracized at times. I'll explain.

Whenever a snowstorm rolls through Philly, people have to shovel out their cars if they need to drive somewhere. It's a huge pain in the ass. So after completing this awful task, people often "save" their parking spot by placing a parking cone or chair or garbage can there. In general, people honor this practice and leave those spots alone. Then after the snow melts away, most people take their parking cones inside and return to the daily hassle of fighting for a parking spot. But some of my neighbors choose toextend the parking cone bullshit.

One of the repeat offenders is this old fella with a handicapped sign hanging from his mirror. I know I know. He's fucking handicapped. But not that bad. He has a slight limp. He takes his garbage out every week. He washes his car on the street. He carries groceries into the house all by himself. All I want is a level playing field where we all follow the same set of rules. I even suggested to him that he try to get a permanent handicapped spot.

Last spring, this old fella kept trying to save his spot long after the snow was gone. I started taking his space from time to time, moving the parking cone to his front stoop. Then we carried on a war of handwritten notes. He'd leave them on my car and I'd leave them on his parking cone. We both basically had the same argument. Him: "You're being disrespectful. Leave my cone alone." Me: "You're being selfish. You can't dictate where I can and can't park."

While all of this was going on (weeks and weeks), some of my other neighbors started following the old guy's lead. With the already limited parking, and his "reserved" spot, it was becoming harder and harder to find a spot. So they started saving their own spots too. Pretty soon, there were four or five reserved spots on the street. Would it be too pompous of me to point out that I was right in battling with the old fella? I should have fought harder before it came to this.

One night I was about to head home from band practice when I got a text from my wife, Lindsey. She told me there was one open spot remaining on our block. And it was right in front of my house. Unfortunately there was an orange cone in the middle of the spot. As we exchanged texts, she told me she'd move the cone so I could park there, knowing I'd be home in just a few minutes.

I pulled up to our block and sure enough, the spot was still there. I pulled up next to the car in front of the spot and threw it in reverse. As this was happening, a big black SUV raced up behind me and skidded to a stop, blocking me from the spot. I waved my left arm out the window to let them know I was trying to back into the spot. I heard laughter coming from the car. So I leaned out the window to discuss the issue. I could see a very large black guy in the driver's seat, with maybe 4 or 5 teenage boys in the car.

Me: "Hey man, I'm trying to park here."
Big guy: "That's my spot. I had a cone there."
Me: "I didn't see a cone, dude. I'm just trying to park in front of my house."
Big guy: "You can't just go around stealing people's cones. That's my spot. I'm parking there."
Me: "You have got to be kidding me. Who do you think you are? What makes you think you can decide where I'm allowed to park?"
Big guy: "I've lived here for 10 years. This is my spot!"
Me: "You know what? You're a shitty fucking neighbor!"
Big guy: "Hahaha! Move along. Move along."

This went on for a couple of minutes. Neighbors started poking their heads out their doors and windows. And the guy's fat wife/girlfriend came outside. I gave up the fight. I put it in drive and raced off around the block. I parked maybe two blocks away. I had my bike in the back of the car, because I had picked it up earlier that day. I hopped on my bike and raced back to my front door. A couple of minutes had passed.

The big guy was across the street with all the kids and his lady standing around him. When I say he's big, I mean it. Probably 6' 2", 250. And I'm 5' 10", 150. He could murder me with a high five. As I stepped off my bike to go into my house with my tail between my legs, he yelled over "There goes Lance Armstrong!" I think he meant it as an insult.

I threw my bike down (which was stupid, I love that bike), and I yelled back across the street. "You're a piece of shit. You have no right to decide who on this block deserves a parking space!"

Big guy: "Oh, big man! Trying to act tough." *the teenagers howled laughing after each of his statements
Me: "You're a bad person. You have no respect for your neighbors."
Big guy: "Go inside, man."
Me: "You can't tell me what to do, man!"

Then Lindsey poked her head out the door. One of the teenage boys yelled across the street "Go back inside, white lady!"

Me: "Get control of your fucking kids! They have no right to speak to my wife."
Big guy's lady: "Leave my kids alone! And stop cursing in front of them!"

If I made one mistake in this whole interaction, it was the repeated "shits" and "fucks". I was pretty heated. And the weeks and weeks of parking-related stress was weighing on me. I should have kept my cool a little better. Me: "I didn't mean to curse. But you have to understand, what you're doing to us is rude and selfish."

Then the big guy came across the street. He walked up to me and very calmly said "Can we talk for a minute?" "Sure." We walked halfway down the block as we talked. He started with a handshake and told me his name is Mike. The conversation lasted a few minutes. Here's the gist:

Mike: "We're not trying to mess with you. It's just that everyone else is using cones to block spots."
Me: "Exactly. That's the problem. I never get to park on my own street anymore."
Mike: "Listen. I didn't realize it was causing such a problem. We'll stop blocking spots."
Me: "That's all I want. Thank you. And I'm sorry I kept cursing in front of your kids."
Mike: "It's nothing man. They use all those words on their own."

Then we wandered into actual chit chat. I mentioned I had just come home from band practice. He asked me if I liked to get baked. I tried to play it cool by saying "sure - sometimes". So he invited me inside his house to smoke up. I politely declined.

Since then, things between me and Mike have been okay. But his wife still gives me shit. They have two SUVs now. And they do their best to get a spot in front of their house, just like everyone else. Except when they have two spots next to each other. When that happens, they'll leave in one car, while pulling their second car up a little to block both spots with one vehicle. Then when they get home, they move it back to make room for the second car. We had a little war in this case too.

And here's a sad epilogue for you. Remember that old guy from the beginning of my story? Well there was a block party last summer. Everyone was out in the street with barbecue and music and beer. Not bad at all. I mean, we probably looked a little out of place, but everyone seemed to be having fun.

Still, Lindsey and I and decided to head out for a while, so we walked to the end of the block where our car was parked and started strapping our kid into her carseat.

The old fella had been sitting with a group of old guys, drinking all day. Two of those old dudes were walking toward the end of the block having a drunken, mumbled conversation. Right when they got to where we were, one of the dudes stopped, turned away from me, and started pissing on the sidewalk. It was realllly awkward. But I figured he was just drunk and maybe didn't even realize we were standing right there.

I rushed to close the car door and walked around toward the driver's side to hop in. Then I heard the pissing man yell to his friend (who was standing right there - the only reason he was yelling was so I could hear) "I don't care who moves in. This is OUR motherfuckin' neighborhood!" I drove off without confronting them.

Not every story has a happy ending.