My Name Is David, And I Can't Park

My Name Is David, And I Can't ParkLike every young American male, I’ve always assumed I am a better than average driver. Piloting sporty, new vehicles on a daily basis has augmented this perception in much the same way that having a catch with a Nerf football makes you think you can throw like Peyton Manning.Behind the bravado, however, I harbor a deep, dark secret: I cannot park. Parallel, backward, forward. It doesn’t matter. The complex geometry involved in placing a car squarely between two yellow lines has always been beyond me. Naturally, this does not fly at Automobile Magazine, where editors are expected to be able to back a Toyota Land Cruiser into a “compacts only” space while sipping coffee and making a note in the logbook about the poorly designed third row seats (they don’t fold into the floor - it’s really a pain). I’ve long hid my handicap simply by driving to the highest floors in the parking garage, where I have dozens of empty spaces in which to maneuver.Alas, today my luck ran out. I was on a short test ride in the new 2009 Audi Q5, accompanied by web producer Evan McCausland, copy editor Rusty Blackwell, and Audi’s ever-capable press representative, Christian Bokich. I took the last leg, and thus had the honor of heading back to the office. I started to enter the parking garage adjacent our building, but the others objected. Why not just pull into the small lot right next to our entrance? I gulped. You see, the lot in question is clearly meant for major league parkers. The spaces are narrow; the lines are obscured by ice. Every car is backed in. I knew as soon as I started into my approach that it would not end well. My angle was wrong, and the Q5 is bigger than its taut lines seem to suggest. The others, seeing this would be a tight squeeze, hopped out of the car. Only they didn’t go into the office. They stood there, watching. I backed up and retried. This time, I got in the spot, but too close to the car on my side. At this point, the others started directing me with hand motions. As I’m sure you all know, this is probably the most humiliating thing that can happen when driving, worse even than asking for directions. Only teenage girls who recently obtained their learner’s permit need someone to direct them into a parking space. On my third try, I somehow managed to get even closer to the car I was trying to avoid. I attempted to get out of the vehicle, but I simply couldn’t squeeze through without bending the sheet metal on this not-yet-for-sale luxury crossover, and had to climb in once more. I could see in the rearview mirror that Christian was starting to get a bit nervous. Needless to say, I won’t be invited to test one of Audi’s Le Mans racecar prototypes anytime soon. I knew I had two choices: I could either give up and let someone else park, or I could be an Automobile Magazine editor. I backed out once more, and focused with all my will. Time slowed to a near stop as I cleared my mind of all thoughts unrelated to guiding this mass of steel into this asphalt paved rectangle. Crawling forward, with gentle adjustments to the wheel, I lined up the Audi with perfect precision, and wrestled my way into the spot. I could have cried for joy. I was, in that moment, a true champion â€" I’m sure the others felt that way too. Needless to say, my next few evenings will be devoted to intense practice, but I think I’m on my way. The first step to recovery, after all, is admitting you have a problem. Someday soon, I hope to join the ranks of Automobile’s parking elite. Read More | Digg It | Add to del.icio.us