adrian_turtle

I usually take the T to Davis Square. I usually take the T everywhere. I hate to drive. It hurts my hands. It hurts my head. It's bad for my peace of mind. But I own a car, partly so I can get to those places where the T doesn't go. (Mostly because I grew up too close to Detroit to quite trust that one can be a respectable adult, a functionally independent member of society, without one's own car.) I brought my car to work today, because I had a late afternoon meeting, and I was afraid the meeting and aftermath would keep me too late to get from work to Davis Square in time for my doctor's appointment. So there I was, driving around and around as the sun went down, searching for a place to park. The public lot near the doctor's office was full, so I searched the one-way streets in widening circles. I hoped the doctor wouldn't measure my blood pressure right away. Every time something startled me, every time the car hit a nasty pothole, I'd clutch at the steering wheel in a painfully futile attempt to regain control of the situation.

I saw an empty parking place on Chester Street. It looked kind of small, but I was getting pretty desperate by that point. I couldn't cope with driving around much longer. I lined my car up, and started to pull in. Wow. This was really a terribly small parking place. I wondered if my desperation would make my hands steadier or less steady. I paused about halfway in, considering the size of the car, the size of the space, my ability to cope with driving, the doctor waiting for me, the twilight approaching full dark.

A young man in a white t-shirt stood on the sidewalk, between my car and the car parked behind me. He beckoned me closer, and stopped me after about 6 inches. I turned to smile and wave at him. Then I wrenched the wheel around and moved the car forwards, nudging it closer to the parking place. He stopped me right before my bumper touched the car ahead. Parking there was exceptionally difficult because a pothole near one wheel made it impossible to move small increments in certain directions. I could not have done it at all without the man on the sidewalk, who spontaneously came to help me when I needed it. When I got out of the car, I saw my rear bumper was almost touching the car behind. The front bumper had about 8" clearance. The man who helped me had disappeared. I'm grateful to him.

(Part of this is being posted to the Davis Square community group. One of the reasons I love the area is that things like this seem to happen around here. Thanks.)