Catadromy

I hate people.

When I say this, someone invariably says, ‘No you don’t, really.’  But I do.  Most of the sins that people commit (at least of late) have to do with their behavior in parking lots.

For example, today I had to go to Trader Joe’s to buy a replacement orchid plant.  This is something I have to do with sad frequency, as I am an orchid killer par excellence.  There was an article in the Home section of The New York Times last week about long-lived plants.  One of those was the phalenopsis; the article said they could live as long as 30 to 40 years.  Hah!  Not under my care, they don’t.  If one of my phalenopsis plants survives a couple of months, it’s a miracle.

But I digress.

Parking at TJ’s is always an adventure.  I think this is on purpose.  The parking lots are too small for the number of people who wish to shop there; it creates a sense of urgency and hypes the demand even higher.  Marketing 101.  I got lucky today and found a spot right away.  It was marked Compact and was on the end of a row, next to a concrete planter with shrubs.  I drive a smallish 4-door sedan.  I pulled in, tight against the planter on the driver’s side, and eased my way out of the car and went inside the market.  The space on my right was also marked Compact, but I was pulled tightly over to the left in my space and left tons of room next to me, because I knew what was coming.  And I was right.

It was nearly as crazy inside the market as it was in the parking lot.  But I got my plant—TJ’s has wonderful orchids and their prices are great—and some cut hydrangeas and a few other things and came back out into the parking lot to find a ginormous white SUV sitting in the space next to me, with her driver door open into the side of my car.  So, Lady Four Runner Who Parks in Compact Spaces—DIE!!!  Please.

My next stop was another parking lot.  I found a space right away, bounced into the store, got what I needed and then drove out of the parking lot.  Or tried to.  The parking lot was hardly full; it was late in the afternoon.  The car in front of me stopped to wait for another car pulling out of a space, holding up not only me, but a whole row of other cars.  There were a lot of empty spaces, but he had to wait for this. Particular. Space.  That out of the way, I continued up the row toward the exit.  Ahead of me were people on foot.  Walking like they were in the middle of a pedestrian mall, rather than a busy parking lot.  Not keeping to the part where the cars are parked, Oh No!  Walking just as pretty as you please, down the middle of the space meant for cars; specifically, my car.  With me in it.  Driving.

There’s a shopping mall I like to go to.  It’s close by and has stores I like.  The parking structure is multi-level and is pretty convenient to get into and out of and generally (other than holiday times) it’s easy to find a space.  There is, however, one serious exception.  There is a ramp leading up to the second level (where I usually park) and without fail, some moron will be sitting, waiting, blocking traffic—in both directions—waiting for a parking spot on the ramp, when there are beaucoup spots just up ahead.  I know there are, because I’m heading for them and I always find one.  The only solution, of course, is for mall management to outlaw parking on the ramp.  They won’t, of course, because that would be the logical, sensible thing to do.

Then, when I finally get past the ramp and am headed toward my preferred parking area—in the parking structure of a busy shopping mall—there are more pedestrians, moseying through the parking structure, as if they’re strolling through Central Park on a fine Spring day.

Get Out Of My Way.

Or become a hood ornament.

I hate people.