Lessons in World Peace from Boston Parking

I walked out into the parking lot of our apartment complex to find a note on my windshield. I was told that the spot I was in was for apartment 2, and "PLEASE DO NOT PARK HERE." The note did say please.

Now a little backstory. When we moved in the weekend before, my wife in her infinite wisdom had suggested that there might be assigned parking because of the numbers stenciled on some of the spaces. Being the Boston native, I explained to her that the numbers were mostly faded so it was most likely first-come-first-serve.

You can imagine my chagrin when I had to begin to entertain the notion that my wife may have been correct. The Bostonian in me suddenly surged, and I thought to myself, how dear he (women don’t leave such notes). Besides, the number stenciled on the space read “22” not “2"! Boy, I’ll… Then it hit me. Boston is the one place you DO NOT want to get in to a parking duel with your neighbor. Especially if you are the newest arrival on the block.

Suddenly, the rational Christian in me came on the scene. I decided that it would be easier to figure out which spot corresponded with my apartment than to get into a spitting contest with someone I didn’t even know.

I spent the next five minutes canvassing the parking lot to find a motley of partially to completely faded numbers along the spaces. Finally, I decided that maybe there was a wacky system (where apartement 2 gets space 22) that I simply wasn’t privy to. After deciding not to be late to work, I got in my car and decide I would call the management company and ASK (as my wife had suggested) if we had an assigned parking space.

After nine, I called the management company from my office. I was 90% expecting them to laugh at me when I asked if there were “assigned spaces,” replying with an “Of course not Mr. Oluwole, who told you that. Just park anywhere.”

Au contraire! The response of the assistant who answered the phone was a firm, “yes, there are.” I could see crow eating in my future. However, it got better. When she asked for our apartment number, and I gave it, she told me our parking spot was number 20. We don’t live in apartment 20!

It was nice to know I was no longer crazy and would avoid fistcuffs with my neighbor. I could now understand how a lot of the relational problems in the world escalate, but also, how they can be defused as well.

Epilogue: On the way out to have dinner with some friends, my wife spied the neigbhoor who had written the note. She was an elderly woman. Boy, did I feel like a heel. On her suggestion, I introduced myself and apologized for taking her space, explaining my new neigbhor status. She was taken so unaware she stuttered, smiled and then introduced herself.