There’s one thing that can ruin your mood faster than traffic jams, gas prices, and other people’s driving advice combined. It’s parking.
And the point isn’t even that there are too few spots. Strange as it sounds, you get used to that. You already know in advance that in the evening you’ll have to do a couple of loops around the neighborhood, mentally say goodbye to your time, and a bit to your nerves. It becomes part of city life, like the noise outside the window or the never-ending renovations next door.
The real problem is people.
At some point you start noticing something odd: behind the wheel everyone is more or less the same. Some are more careful, some more aggressive, but overall it’s predictable. But as soon as it comes to parking, it’s like something switches.
Some people take up two spaces at once because “I don’t want my car scratched.” Someone blocks the exit and disappears “just for a minute,” leaving neither a number nor a chance to get out. Someone parks in such a way that half the courtyard later wonders how that was even possible.
And you stand there in the middle of all this and catch yourself thinking a simple thought: it’s not about a lack of spaces. It’s about the fact that, in that moment, everyone feels like they’re the only one.
The worst part isn’t even the anger. You get used to that faster than you’d like. What’s worse is something else: at some point you start noticing that you sometimes behave the same way. You’re in a hurry, you can’t be bothered to re-park, you justify it with that same “I’ll only be a minute.”
And that’s when it becomes clear where this whole “parking hell” comes from.
It’s not because of the city. It’s because of us.
Because culture isn’t something big and abstract. It shows up in small things. In whether you left space for someone else. In whether you thought about whether someone would be able to get out after you. In whether you decided to spend an extra thirty seconds to park properly.
It sounds cliché—until you’re the one who’s been blocked in.
In a big city we’re constantly sharing space with each other anyway—roads, courtyards, sidewalks. And parking is, essentially, the simplest test of basic respect.
Not knowledge of the rules.
Not driving experience.
But respect.
And maybe if we start with at least this—parking the way you’d like others to park around you—life will become a little easier.
At least in the courtyard in the evening.