Parallel Parking

One of the benefits of not driving a nice car is creating your own parking spaces. All of those almost-spots left by inconsiderate Benzes and Bimmers become fair game if you don't mind dinging your bumper up a little (and theirs).

And I don't.

Patience runs thin in a city full of assholes and no one is taking steps to depucker themselves. It's beat 'em or join 'em, and I don't like to assimilate. Gone are the days of frustrated sighs and cursing under my breath. I'm like a fat woman with an undersized pair of Wal-Mart jeans.

Shit will fit come hell or high water.

I back in my Subaru until I hit either the curb or the vehicle behind me. It's usually the vehicle, as I've gotten pretty fucking decent at parallel parking since moving to LA. Once I feel that bump, I tap the gas to see if there's any resistance. If there is, I turn my wheels and shift to drive. No gas. Just let the car roll until I bump the vehicle in front of me. Once our bumpers are touching like teenagers, I surge, skidding the cocksucker forward until I have enough room to be comfortable. I'll then straighten out, detach my stereo, and get out of the car to admire a job well done.