Misadventures in parking

Why am I so bad at it? No really, why?

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I have to drive into Central London on a Saturday afternoon and I’m certain I’ll never find a space I can park in. One that is at least two cars long. Ideally three. So I go on an app where you can rent someone’s driveway and I pay an extortionate amount for some peace of mind.

My mind is not entirely peaceful though. I have some slight concerns as many reviews mention how narrow it is. (Yes, I read the reviews!) But the photo looked okay. And surely they’re not using a fish-eye lens to take a picture of a car parking space.

I’m also a bit nervous as only my son and I are driving there. My partner, Tom, has to go somewhere else first. But I’ve told him with characteristic firmness that he has to meet us at the parking space. I’ve given him the exact time we will arrive. So he can be there and help if I get into any difficulty.

When I arrive at my allotted time, the first thing I notice is that Tom is not there yet. The second thing I notice is a guy leaning against his doorframe. He appears to be waiting for me. The third thing I notice is a tiny sliver of empty driveway space. It’s basically a one-car driveway with his car right on the edge and I’m supposed to go next to it.

This might not be a problem for some people. But it’s a narrow road with cars parked all the way down and there’s a lamp post next to the driveway. It would be tricky even if I were a grade C parker. As it is, I’m a grade G parker. I was going to say an ungraded parker, like with A-levels, and then I wasn’t sure if there was an ungraded parker. And then I realised I’d invented graded parking.

There’s no point even trying. I’ll sit and pray that Tom shows up in the next few minutes.

While I’m doing this, the lady of the house comes out. She asks if there is a problem. Which is a fair question seeing as I’m sat by their space in the road. I have to tell her there is a problem. That I’m really bad at parking so I’m going to wait for my partner to get here.

At this point, Tom returns the increasingly irate calls I’ve been making to him. He apologises and says he’ll be there in - and this is the worst news I’ve ever had - TWENTY MINUTES.

Even my young son in the back is now asking what’s going on. I have to tell him that I can’t do it. I can’t park. And it’s like Tony Robbins has left his body and entered my son’s, such is the motivational pep talk that he now gives me. “Mum, you can do it. I know you can do it. You CAN do it.”

It’s so effective that I start thinking I can do it. And I don’t want to let him down. I want to show him that we can do anything we want if we put our minds to it. I can’t give up without even trying. So with this new mindset, I begin the manoeuvre into the sliver of parking space.

The man of the house comes out again. He’s looking anxious. He starts to guide me in with his hands. I’m turning into the space and my son is encouraging me and I’m getting there, I’m doing it. And then there’s a terrible grinding, scraping noise coming from the right side of the car.

Tony Robbins leaves my son’s body and he goes quiet. The husband disappears back into his house. It’s so bad he leaves and closes the door.

I stop and get out. I’ve scraped past the lamp post which has taken off part of the car door. There’s a long strip of metal on the floor.

At this point, the man I hate most in the world right now, more than the man who guided me into a lamp post, turns up. It’s Tom. He gets in the driver’s seat and in two moves, one reverse and one forward, glides into the sliver. Making me not even worthy of ungraded parker.

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Why are some people so bad at parking? Is there a gene lacking? Is it experience or confidence or just some kind of insane devil-may-careness that would allow someone to hold up traffic while they attempt a parallel park in full view of other people? I feel both weak and ill just typing these words.

And people who reverse into parking spaces so they’re easier to leave. HOW DO YOU DO THIS? People who get the angle right first time when going into a car parking space and don’t have to go backwards and forwards for what feels like several moon orbits.

I look for answers as I want to discover there is something wrong with my brain, some defect that can excuse all my bad, painful, wonky parking.

Like, once I managed to get into a parking spot which I then found impossible to leave. I just couldn’t get out again. I had to ask a stranger to do it for me. Which she did but damaged one of my tyres so badly I had to pay £80 to replace it.

Weirdly, according to my extensive research (first three pages of a Google search), no scientist has sought to answer this question. There were just some vague suggestions that an inability to park is down to poor spatial awareness. Which sounds about right.

Some people talk about the magic of parenting being happy faces on Christmas Day, a podgy thigh and cuddles and kisses, but for me it’s the huge parent and child parking spaces. But they’re only at supermarkets and my child won’t be a child forever. So what if there were bad parking zones with massive spaces especially for people like me? You’d have to do a test at a government facility and if you were bad enough you’d get a permit. This could be the answer. And until then, I’m only ever driving again if I don’t have to stop anywhere.

Tell me

I’d love to hear your bad parking stories, purely to make myself feel better. And also about any better ideas to solve the problem than my government-issued bad parking permits.

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