Parking Deck Hostage

I have a reoccurring nightmare that leaves me in a complete panic when I wake up. And it's technically not scary. It's not apocalyptic, gory, or tragic. It's just stressful. It's me needing to be at work in 5 minutes, but suddenly I find myself driving my car in Upstate New York. My GPS tells me that my estimated time of arrival is 11 hours later. When I realize that there is no possible way that I will make it to work on time, I start to panic. My sleeping, subconscious brain runs itself ragged trying to figure out some way to make it to work. I try to find the nearest airport, but then realize even if I found an airport I still wouldn't make it. (And even my sleeping, subconscious brain knows I wouldn't be able to afford the plane ticket). I always wake up feeling helpless and anxious, but I calm down as soon as I realize that I am in control. I would never be irresponsible enough to drive to Upstate New York before work. And sleeping late doesn't usually happen because I always set an alarm...and 2 back up alarms...and then one final just-in-case-panic-mode alarm.

Yesterday, my worst nightmare, the reoccurring nightmare happened...for real. Except I didn't find myself in Upstate New York. I was trapped in the Greene Street Parking Deck in Greensboro. For about 30 minutes. On my first official night of a new job. And I handled the situation with the grace and emotional maturity of Makenzie from Toddlers and Tiaras...just with less eyeliner.

I left my house in plenty of time to get to work. Since it's a 30 minute drive, I left an hour early in case there was traffic, or in case I got lost, or needed to fill out some paperwork, or stock some wine, or save a kitten from a storm gutter. I left early enough that there was no way in hell I could be late. But the one thing I didn't factor into my commute was St. Patrick's Day. It was on a Saturday for the first time in awhile, so I was unaware that on St. Patrick's Day, Greensboro turns into Lil' Ireland thanks to an Irish pub located off Elm and McGee. It was the magnet for all the mayhem, and it is a block down the street from where I was headed.

I quickly became aware of how much I had underestimated the city of Greensboro's zeal for eating bangers and mash, and making already crappy beer even crappier with food coloring. (Guinness can't turn green...). I also underestimated how many of the Irish for a Day would be parking their cars in the Greene Street Parking Deck, and hopefully taking a cab home later. (Does Target make a St. Patty's Day t'shirt that says "Kiss Me, I'm Getting a DWI"?)

Since the Greene Street Parking Deck is one way, I didn't notice that there was a line of traffic backed all the way up to the fourth level, until I turned around to head back down towards the exit. At this point, I was cutting it dangerously close to being on time, but since I hadn't actually found a parking spot yet, and since it was my first official night at a new job, I wanted to be more than just on time.

I sat in the line of traffic and watched as the time on my radio clock just kept ticking away. Even with my clock set 10 minutes fast (not on purpose...just out of apathy) I sat there helplessly, less than 100 feet away from the place I needed to be but completely unable to be there because I couldn't find a parking spot. And I couldn't just leave the deck to look (hopelessly) for street parking either because I was being held hostage by the line of cars that sat idling, fuming between me and the exit 3 levels below.

Even in this purgatory, there was tiny beacons of hope. I would sit up on the edge of my seat and grip the steering wheel at the sight of reverse lights from one of the occupied spots, and I watched eagerly as people walked towards their cars. But my hopes were dashed every time while I watched a car in front or behind me pull snuggly into these parking spots. I watched as the passengers got out of the cars, wearing seizure-inducing St. Patrick's Day flair, all their i's dotted with clovers. Their agenda was obviously to drink as much green food-coloring and Bud Light as possible, and mine was to get to work...fifteen minutes late at this point. Was there no justice? Damn you parking spots with your cruel and panoptic indifference! Damn you!

I wish I could say that I sat there calmly in my car while the traffic trickled out into Washington Street. I wish I could tell you that I didn't punch my steering wheel, cry, and wish green diarrhea on every person who got a parking spot instead of me. I wish I could tell you that I flourished under pressure, stoically accepting that I was stuck in a constipated parking deck with the rest of the cars. I wish I could tell you that I reacted gracefully to the situation and saw it as a shared human experience that I was having with the guy driving the Galant in front of me and the woman driving the Avalon behind me (not the dude driving the Jeep though because he got a spot right by the stairs, so eff that guy). But I can't.

After parking 1/2 a mile away at a friend's house, walking briskly while having a legit hissy fit, and getting to work 30 minutes late I finally calmed down. Every one was late since the parking deck and the streets were backed up like Elvis's bowels circa 1977. All of my panicking, steering-wheel-punching, stranger-harassing, and overall psychotic behavior was all for naught. But at least I now have 1 less nightmare, because I faced that one without getting fired, injuring myself, or committing vehicular manslaughter.