Santa Barbara City College is known for its top notch professors, its beautiful campus, and the lack of financial burden it places on its students. It is less known for overly demanded parking spaces and fascist parking administrators. Finding a parking spot can be a tricky and lengthy procedure, though luck is always welcomed.
So this is my story on Tuesday morning, before class…
I had full intentions to arrive at school earlier than normal so I could go to the bookstore to purchase an atlas of the Middle East, so I left home at around 8:30 (class starts at 9:35). It took about eight minutes to get to the Pershing Park parking lot, which was perfectly normal. Once in the parking lot, I began to realize how wasteful my previous luck with finding parking spots had been (taking less than two minutes to get a spot, or even spotting a vacant spot and beating traffic). I got fed up with Pershing Park and headed to the two lower lots, but had no luck. Several minutes later I decided to go back to Pershing Park with a fresh hope. How quickly hope fades. It seemed like forever. The temperature was starting to rise, now about 90 degrees in my car with no A/C or fans. There it was, the legitimate glory. I spotted a green Jetta with reverse lights in the ideal row, right next to the stairs to the campus. I hurried toward the car with my blinker on, but saw another car in the opposite direction also hurrying. I definitely had my blinker on first. And I was there first. I took a look at the opposition: a fat girl wearing a sweater (probably using her stupid A/C) in a modern Honda Accord. Time seemed to be at a standstill, but eventually the Jetta’s reverse lights illuminated and backed out in the direction favoring the fat girl’s entry, where she could just follow the Jetta’s path right into the spot. Knowing with a conviction that this spot was mine, I could not let that happen. As soon as the Jetta started to drive away, I quickly released the clutch with a careful right foot, then immediately (and intentionally) braked, and then continued into the spot like I meant it. When the fat girl saw my darting right as she started to go, she backed off and went defensive. I clearly let her self-preservation instincts prevent her from being hit by a rusty German machine. I was proud. I am proud. I have no regrets.
The fat girl drove off clearly befuddled and frustrated. She even did a vicarious victory lap for me, though I’m sure she was making some obscene hand gestures at me, but I pretended not to notice.
And here is my visual representation of the action. Not drawn to scale.

Nevertheless, I was unable to purchase my atlas of the Middle East, and I was late to class by about ten minutes.
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