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Stuck in the Parking Lot

Adiah Afraz on 2, Feb 2012 | 5 Comments | in Category: Insight

It is said in the male book of epigrams that behind every impossible traffic jam, there is the hand of a woman. And if you try to fight this out, then there is always a woman driver present in close proximity, doing something that she shouldn’t have started in the first place. Like trying to take a U-turn in one way traffic and giving you dirty looks for giving her dirty looks, or parking her car in the middle of the road, and throwing accusatory glances at all those honking their horns behind her.

 

 
Now try as much as you can to convince the woman driver haters that this sort of thing is called civic sense deficiency, and it is not gender specific; but you just cannot win.

 

Because in the universal book of epigrams, behind every male chauvinistic argument, there is the bull head of a male chauvinist.

 

And if you are not a male chauvinist, then please hear my story and prove me wrong.

 

It was noon on a random day when after returning from a book shop I found my legally parked car wedged between two dashing vehicles.

 

Now the situation is this. On my right there is a metallic fence, on my left someone has parked a car, and right behind me there is a car as well.

 

I know I am stuck. I stand there to assess the situation. From the corner of my eye I can sense some idlers lurking around. They have found their entertainment, and can’t wait to be a part of it.

 

I sit on the driving seat, ignore the lurkers and try to reverse my car. The lurkers move closer in anticipation. I try to reverse, then move forward, reverse again, then move forward again, hoping to squeeze my way out.

 

The situation gets more hopeless. I get out to examine the space.

 

“Give me the keys. I’ll take it out”, says a man from behind. It’s somebody’s driver. Reluctantly, I hand over the keys. He is a man! Maybe he can help after all.

 

To my utter disappointment, the man doesn’t grow wings on the car. Neither does he make it flutter by. Instead he does exactly the same thing as I had done a few minutes ago. Reverse, foreword, reverse, forward. After five minutes he gets out. “Gotta go”, he says dismissively. “The begum sahib is here. But you keep trying.”

 

But as they say, if one man leaves, another one enters, so within seconds I get myself a rescuer. This time it’s a car wash boy.

 

“Why don’t you reverse and then more forward?” he asks me. “Oh. really?” I widen my eyes. “But I have done it already.” I blink.

 

“No no no. You don’t understand.” He uses his hands to describe what he means. “Just reverse. And move forward.”

 

“Why don’t you try?” I challenge.

 

“I would if I could. It’s just that I don’t know how to drive.”

 

Men!!! They think they are born to rescue maidens in distress. So what if it is in theory alone, they can do it alright.

 

As I patiently wait for something to happen, a group of beggars approach me. Looking at my dilapidated car and crumpled attire, they naturally offer to help. “You know what you should do?” says one of them.

 

I am curious.

 

“Reverse. And forward.”

 

“O Come on!!” I simply turn around.

 

Nearly thirty more minutes pass, and every walking male (with the exception of the stray dogs, of course) offers to help. The suggestion remains the same. Like, why don’t I reverse my car a bit. Just a bit. And then, you know, FORWARD.

 

An hour later the street urchin grapevine locates the owner of the car on my left. As it turns out this car had been parked before the one behind me, so technically this driver is free of all blame. The car is hot and the owner is cool. Impressed with all of the above, I decide to apologise.

 

“No problem”, comes the reply. “But you know what; you could have easily taken your car out. If only you had reversed it a bit, and moved it a bit forward.”

 

“Actually you know what? This is not possible. Thank you very much” I am fed up.

 

 

“You want me to do it for you?” he challenges.

 

Now here is a tricky one. My indignation compels me to give him the car keys. My sense of propriety makes me docile. I don’t want to be the kind of woman who instead of just going home, goes around throwing challenges to cool guys with hot cars. And more than that, I am suddenly in doubt. What if he is right? What if this car can be taken out? O the embarrassment of it all.

 

“No it’s ok. I am in a hurry.” I murmur.

 

The cool guy smiles a patronising smile and zooms off leaving me standing there like a fool.

 

I shake my head. I have been driving for fourteen years. I know I am right. This was an impossible situation.

 

“I am sure there was plenty of space for you to get out”, says one most important man in my life, as soon as I reach home.

 

“You know what? The rule book says you are supposed to have faith in me.” I retort

 

“You know what? The rule book says you are supposed to see at least your nose while you are driving” I am further informed.

 

“O Please. I have had enough. I think I am going to go and write a column about it, and tell the world that there was no way I could have taken my car out.”

 

“And I think I am going to give you my best wishes because nobody is going to believe you…..Want to bet your car on it?”

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