STATEN ISLAND, N.Y. – I keep telling myself that I’m not going to get stressed out about where I park my car when I get home.
It’s my new mission in life.
But I get bent out of shape when I lose the parking spot in front of my house.
Especially when another vehicle jumps into spot right when I was about to.
Which is exactly what happened to me on Thursday.
I was coming home from a work event in Arrochar. I had to make a few stops along the way, including at the pharmacy and to pick up some beer.
So I wound my way down Bay Street, through Fort Wadsworth and Rosebank and Clifton, to do my errands. And all this in the 5 p.m. rush hour.
So in other words, my nerves were already shot from stop-and-go driving by the time I returned to my neighborhood.
Just as I turned onto my block, a van got into traffic ahead of me.
You know what happened next: The van pulled into the spot in front of my house, the very spot that I’d vacated just a few hours before and had hoped to return to.
What are the odds, right? I missed out on it literally be a matter of seconds.
If only I didn’t have to run my debit card twice at the self-checkout in the CVS.
If only I’d been faster in making my beer selection at Beverage Island.
If only, if only. Then I would have gotten my prized spot back.
Not that it made any difference. I was one vehicle length farther away from my front door than usual. I was still on my side of the street. I was still technically “in front” of my house.
Which is exactly my point: There was no real hardship in not having “my” parking spot. Why am I getting so upset about it? What is with that territorial instinct that turns us all into fang-bearing wolverines?
OK, when I come back from the supermarket and have groceries to bring into the house, being closer to my front door actually matters.
A little bit, at least. Right?
Or back in the day when I had sleeping children to carry into the house. Then I wanted to be as close as possible. Or when it’s raining heavily.
But what difference does it really make?
And the overall parking situation on my block isn’t so bad.
Sure, there’s the occasional vehicle that I don’t recognize that parks on the street without moving for days or weeks.
And, yeah, there’s a regular in the area who parks practically right up on my bumper even when there’s plenty of space for them to move back a little bit.
C’mon. This isn’t San Francisco. Or Boston. Or Brooklyn. We’ve got some parking room to work with out here in the forgotten borough. Leave me a couple more feet so I can get in and out smoothly.
And I try to be considerate of others in the neighborhood. I try to leave space so that friends who live next door can park their car closer to their house.
Things could be worse. When I lived in an apartment in Sunnyside years ago, I regularly had to park around the block.
I don’t want my moods to be dictated by things that are totally out of my control. Like where my car is parked and how many extra steps I have to take in order to reach my front door. It’s just not worth it.
Like I’m trying not to let all the traffic and knucklehead drivers on Staten Island get to me.
That’s a much bigger struggle.
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Beaten down by traffic, I left my car home and took NYC mass transit.
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