I'll Never be a Limo Driver in England

Harvey had a post today on bad drivers and he professes to being somewhat driving impaired. Actually the quote was, "I drive like crap." I will tell you, I am not a bad driver. I learned from The Great Omnipotent One, a Naval Aviator, and while I am not as aggressive as he (not possible really), I took his lessons to heart and am a defensive driver, paying attention to my gauges, my mirrors, my surroundings. Yes, I have made errors in judgment, but for the most part, I am a safe driver, paying attention to speed, weather conditions and what not.

But I have a confession to make. I cannot parallel park. I.can.not. It is somewhat of a family joke. I’m not great at parking in general. A pull in spot, I’m slightly too close to one of the lines. I can be at a cock-eyed angle. It is what it is and I find it just as annoying. I won’t leave my car in a poorly parked position, however, I will actually correct it. I have been known to jump out, keys in hand, be halfway down the lot, look at my car and be horrified at the job I’ve done at parking, walk BACK to my car and fix it.

About 5 years ago, I was at home visiting my folks. I was driving TGOO and I to the grocery story. We pulled in, TGOO opened the door, looked out, then looked back at me and said, “GD, D., how long have you been driving and you still can’t park worth a damn.” It was so damn funny it stuck in my brain.

But parallel parking… it is the bane of my existence. If there is one thing keeping me from traveling to Europe, besides money, it is the parallel parking. I.just.cannot.do.it.

Yes, I know all the tricks. I know you’re supposed to cut it here, straighten there, cut it there. I know it. But I forget and I am evidently not good under parking stress as I can tell you exactly what I have to do whilst driving, but once I have the car in position to start, I freeze and cannot do it. Call it a strange case of performance anxiety.

During my driver’s test when I was 16, I took it in my folk’s big ass 1970 LeMans Pontiac. (I loved that car… it was fast as hell.) I somehow got the car parked for the parallel section, but I was in and out, in and out, in and out, inching it in there, hitting the curb over and over, that when I finally got it in, the tester said something like, “I don’t even have to look. I know you’re close enough to the curb.”

One year while in she was in college, my sister came to visit me. I decided to take her down to Palm Beach to look around. It’s a fun place to stroll on a leisurely afternoon. I can’t afford to buy even one shoe there, but it’s fun. All over Palm Beach is parallel parking. I’m driving down Worth Avenue and I’m freaking. Finally my sister says, “Look! Just park RIGHT HERE!” I stopped the car, looked at the two cars that I would be parking between and said, “NO! I AM NOT PARKING between TWO Rolls Royces!” And I drove around the block numerous times until I found a pull in spot off some obscure street.

It is what it is. I had to parallel park this weekend. I nearly stroked out from the stress. OK, I exaggerate, but not much. My husband had to talk me through it as he was in the passenger side. I think he was stunned it was so difficult for me.

It just isn’t going to happen. If I make it to Europe, I better have the big damn bucks for a limo.