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And you can’t find one? Losers!

By Ed Goldman

The next time you can’t find a parking space in your city’s downtown area after dark or at a suburban mall on a Saturday afternoon, try to remember this meant-to-be reassuring news from a recent New York Times story: 

“Two billion parking spots dot the country, by some estimates. That’s roughly seven spaces for every car, adding up to an area about the size of West Virginia.”

I’m guessing we’re not feeling all that reassured. In fact, aren’t we a bit angrier than we were before reading the previous paragraph? It means that our inability to find one of seven parking spaces available makes us—let’s not be falsely kind—total losers. 

The statistic reminds me of that famous line, “Water, water everywhere, but no water to drink.” That’s from “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner,” a poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772-1834). While he was referring to the sea, bear in mind he was also an opium addict. This means he might have been using the sea as a metaphor for the time he looked out his living room window and saw his pusher stop at every home on the other side of the street, giving out little packages of drugs. But that he never stopped at Sammy’s. 

His pharmaceutical abuse may also explain why Coleridge couldn’t spell “rhyme.” But we’ll get into that in another column, whose working title is, “The Timeless Typos of Our Literary Titans.” I’m slotting that for the second Wednesday of next week.

I also infer from the Times report that if I really want to find a parking space I should either move to West Virginia or just drive there, park my car and take an Uber to my destination. This could prove costly.

This may be as opportune a moment as any to reveal a heretofore miraculous fact about myself: I always find a parking space. This admittedly bold statement comes with a caveat: While I always find a space, it doesn’t mean it isn’t occupied. 

If you think I just cheated, bear in mind that Coleridge could damn well have drunk the ocean water surrounding the Ancient Mariner. If it didn’t kill him, at the very least the salt would have raised his blood pressure to an unhealthy level, no doubt requiring him to ingest more opium to bring it down. All I’m saying is that he could’ve, not that he should’ve. Let this be a lesson for our younger readers: Sailing the ocean while hooked on dope is bound to be a life-shortening enterprise, kids. Better to play TikTok games and help the Chinese use your fascinating data to plot the overthrow of your government, of which you’re blissfully ignorant.

—Okay, okay, we’re back. I wanted to ask a few questions about the apparent glut of parking spaces in the country and what I can do with this information.

a. Buy five more cars. I technically could buy six more to use all the spaces the nation has for me, but as a canny investor, I know it’s always good to leave oneself a little wiggle room. This rule also applies to selecting an elevator car based on its occupancy and buying denims lacking that fabled “skosh” more room.