Bwana
10-15-2004, 12:59 PM
I parked my car in a parking garage in downtown Billings a couple of weeks ago. I had parked in this garage before but not recently, and I recalled why. In theory parking garages are good ideas but in actual practice I usually end up losing what little sanity I still have left.
Nine times out of ten, I’m able to drive across the sidewalk and enter the garage without running over a pedestrian. At that point I figure I’ve got it made since there are all kinds of empty spaces on the first floor and I’ll just pull into one of them and park the car. I then notice that the empty spaces all have little signs stating that they are RESERVED and there are usually other signs with not so thinly veiled threats that if I don’t pay attention to the little signs some 300 pound guy named Bruno will come along and attempt to jam me into my cars glove compartment.
I decide to take the hint, drive past a seemingly never ending bunch of RESERVED spots and drive around and around and up and up the innards of the garage. The inside of the garage is tastefully decorated with over a hundred different paint colors on the pillars where cars have scraped them. I finally reach a level where the unwashed masses are allowed to park, and eventually I am able to locate an empty spot. At this point I’m so high in the garage I can look down on airplanes making their final approach to Logan Field.
I figure because of the altitude, oxygen deprivation is causing me to hallucinate because my parking space appears to be the exact width of my car. It turns out it is not an illusion. The spaces are so small that once I park there’s so little distance between my car and the vehicles on either side of me I can’t get the car doors open. This leaves me with two options. Crawling through the sun roof or figuring a way to get out through the trunk.
While I wasn’t happy, I’m not contemplating a lawsuit since I have only myself to blame. They advertised it as being a parking garage and after all, I was able to park. They never claimed I would be able to get out of my car.
Nine times out of ten, I’m able to drive across the sidewalk and enter the garage without running over a pedestrian. At that point I figure I’ve got it made since there are all kinds of empty spaces on the first floor and I’ll just pull into one of them and park the car. I then notice that the empty spaces all have little signs stating that they are RESERVED and there are usually other signs with not so thinly veiled threats that if I don’t pay attention to the little signs some 300 pound guy named Bruno will come along and attempt to jam me into my cars glove compartment.
I decide to take the hint, drive past a seemingly never ending bunch of RESERVED spots and drive around and around and up and up the innards of the garage. The inside of the garage is tastefully decorated with over a hundred different paint colors on the pillars where cars have scraped them. I finally reach a level where the unwashed masses are allowed to park, and eventually I am able to locate an empty spot. At this point I’m so high in the garage I can look down on airplanes making their final approach to Logan Field.
I figure because of the altitude, oxygen deprivation is causing me to hallucinate because my parking space appears to be the exact width of my car. It turns out it is not an illusion. The spaces are so small that once I park there’s so little distance between my car and the vehicles on either side of me I can’t get the car doors open. This leaves me with two options. Crawling through the sun roof or figuring a way to get out through the trunk.
While I wasn’t happy, I’m not contemplating a lawsuit since I have only myself to blame. They advertised it as being a parking garage and after all, I was able to park. They never claimed I would be able to get out of my car.