Daily Life

Parking Lot Hunts

This school year is definitely in full swing. I’m starting to have a feel for the timing of all of my classes, how long it takes me to walk from each classroom, where I’ll sit in between classes, the whole shebang. Aaron has his classes at 9 AM each morning, but I don’t have classes until 11 AM most days or at 3 PM on Tuesdays/Thursdays. My work hours are so flexible that I don’t need to clock in right at 9 AM each day. This means that I am in charge of parking each morning.

Parking on campus has to be one of my least favorite things in the world. If you’re not on campus by 7:45 AM, it’s almost impossible to find a spot in one of the approved student parking lots (don’t even get me started on the wasted spaces that are set aside for faculty and staff). This usually means finding a spot on the street and hoofing it up the mountain to campus. I don’t mind, really, because I am always sure to bring my iPod that currently has the audiobook of “The Help” on it. It is simply marvelous.

I have recently learned a trick to finding parking spots in the parking lot. The key is to arrive around 3 minutes before the hour when some students are returning to their cars after an 8 AM class. Unfortunately, I am not the only one who discovered this trick. There is usually about 3–4 cars swooping around the parking lot like vultures at this exact time trying to grab spots from the students who are leaving. Nasty litttle creatures. It’s a strategy game, really. The key is to wait at the front or end of the rows so you can see the student going towards their car and you can “call dibs” on their spot. I’ve even seen people who ask the person if they are leaving and if they can have their spot. This is cheating, in my opinion. I believe whoever is in the perfect place to get their spot should get it! And whoever turns their blinker on indicating they are taking the spot wins. It’s common courtesy.

I’ve been beaten out the last few days by more clever drivers than me. I didn’t realize one guy was waiting for a spot until he narrowed his eyes dangerously at me over the steering wheel. I quickly backed away, averting my eyes, and giving an awkward hand wave that I meant to indicate, “It’s all yours, man.” I hate getting beaten.

Parking is no joke at BYU. We mean business.