Jane, Get Me Off this CRAZY THING!

To say that Kitty is an independent woman is a complete understatement. She backpacked across Europe with a girlfriend (and spent a good bit of time by herself on the trip). She has sky-dived. Kitty has climbed 14,000 mountains and kept up with her wild brothers as they skied down. I am a HUGE fan of my wife's independence.

Needless to say, I was shocked when she called me today. "I'm at the laundromat. I can't get the car out."

"Is it broken? Did you get in an accident? Are you ok? What's going on?" Gripped by panic, I'm already pulling on my shoes and grabbing my wallet and house keys.

"No. Nothing like that, I'm fine. I can't get out of the parking spot at the laundromat."

"Okay..." I reply. "So you are fine and I don't have to worry."

"Well, not exactly. I parked, looked inside the laundromat and it is completely filled up and there is no chance in H-E-L-L that we are going to get to do laundry this morning. Some woman in an SUV pulled in and she's so close that I can't get out. Could you come help me out? I'll go shopping next door and get the last of the groceries."

By the time I walk up, Kitty is coming out of the store. "Thanks for meeting me. I'm really stuck." Surveying the situation, I realize that this is no ordinary parking crisis. First off, the parking lot is tiny. The owners have also added more lines than you can actually park cars. It is par for the course, in NYC. If you are driving down the 278 (the Brooklyn/Queens Expressway), you will see that their are 3 lanes going in either direction. It is the same width as a two lane road in Colorado, except that they have painted three incredibly narrow lanes and their is about 6 inches between you and the taxi cab doing ninety as it passes you on the right. I think I have illustrated my point.

I do some mental measurements. There is an SUV on the left of our car. It is about 5 inches away from our car. Bad. There is a car on our right that is a couple feet away. Good. There is not enough room to back straight up and out.

I wiggle into the drivers seat and lower my window to hear directions from Kitty. As I start to back up, I hear, "Betta NOT hit my car!" A woman wearing Mary-Kate, Fly-eyed-shape sunglasses, tight jeans and a bad attitude has come out.

As I back up, I see a flash of a Mets jersey. The guy to our right has run behind my car to get to the back seat of his car to retrieve his laundry detergent. There was at least one safer way to make it to his car. Behind me was not the right choice. He stops to look. After he assesses that there is no way he will be hit, he jogs back behind my car to his waiting socks and underwear, causing me to slam on the brakes again. "Betta not HIT my car!" the woman yells again.

I start to back out again. Another guy is now standing behind my car. He starts making hand gestures. Keep coming back, he seems to say... stop... he mimes. Great, I need auditory help and I get Marcel Marceau. If I see him doing a glass wall, I will get out and beat him. "Betta not hit MY car!"

I start to back out and rather than try to turn away from the SUV, I back out of the parking lot. Again, Marcel is pointing, thinking that I'm turning in the wrong direction. When he figures out my plan he tries to get me to keep backing up. "Betta not hit my CAR!"

I realize that now I will have to back the car about 25 feet, through two 90 degree angles and now I've got Kitty, the Mime, "BETTA not hit" and three other people watching as I try to negotiate all the parked cars that are lined up like barbed wire around my narrow path to freedom.

5 minutes later, Marcel is standing in the parking lot miming "VICTORY!"