Winter Wonderland

Living in South Dakota means that one event comes like clockwork every year: the storm that heralds the beginning of the six-month winter. That day came today. I checked the radar at Weather.com at about noon today, and I discovered that South Dakota was in the middle of a Great White Splotch.

I knew the Great White Splotch was coming, and last night I arrived home at 3 in the morning, pulling into the alleyway that leads to my apartment garage. I knew the plow would be coming through today, and I couldn't park on the street. Each apartment in my building has a space in the garage, plus one space in the driveway off the alley. You can imagine my late night/early morning rage when I discovered a neighbor's pickup in my driveway space, deftly taking up one-half of my spaces while blocking the other half. Sleepy and grumbly, I scribbled a polite note: "Please don't park in this space. Thanks, I appreciate it," and tucked it under the windshield wiper. I drove to my boyfriend's house, unlocked the door, and found that he had chained the latch. I thanked the powers that be for skinny arms, jammed my arm through the opening up to the elbow, unhooked the chain, and crawled into bed.

I spent the Great White Splotch Day at my boyfriend's house, watching movies and playing Geneforge 2. After he went to work this afternoon, I maneuvered my car through the drift-filled streets of the city, wipers squeaking merrily as they brushed off the still-falling snow. I arrived home, pleased that my space had been vacated. No harm done, I thought.

So this evening, I trekked through the thick white sludge again, off to Wal-Mart to buy a decent pair of boots and a snow shovel. I spent about an hour roaming the store and debating between two pairs of boots. I paid for my merchandise and carefully drove home.

But of course. Another car in my driveway spot, again blocking the garage. Irritated and unsure of the owner, I placed an identical note on this windshield. I parked in the street since the plows weren't yet running. I went inside, sat down in my living room, and within 15 minutes heard someone clomping down the hall and up the stairs. I began to curse the thin walls and ceilings of my 80-year-old building when the same person began stomping around upstairs. I ignored it, but the cats became uneasy when the upstairs neighbors dropped something heavy. And then another heavy something. And then another. I heard the couple laughing and talking loudly, and then I bristled when I heard a male voice say, "So fucking write her back: 'Sorry, I already paid my rent and I'll park wherever the fuck I want.'"

Now, honestly, I think I'm a pretty good neighbor. I don't cook stinky food, I only vacuum during daylight hours, and I break federal law as I tuck my neighbor's junk mail into his mailbox ever since he filled out a change-of-address card incorrectly. Long story short, I conveniently ran into the couple an hour later as they were leaving (in their other car, which was parked in their driveway spot). I put on my best Friendly Neighbor smile and asked cheerily, "Hey, do you guys know who owns this maroon car?"

They hemmed and hawed a minute before the girl acknowledged that it was hers. "Well, the plows are going to be out in a couple of hours; would you mind moving it?" She feigned polite confusion and asked, "Oh, is this your space?"

I responded in the affirmative, and she and her boyfriend huddled and chattered at one another. "Here's the thing," the girl finally told me, "We have three cars." I shrugged and held my tongue rather than informing them that they ought to have considered this when signing a lease for an apartment in South Dakota that had only two off-street spots (which, in itself, is a luxury in a college town). "Sorry, but I can't park in the street tonight. Plows, you know."

They chatted in low tones again, and she asked, "Is it okay if we just pull it into the garage spot?" "Sure," I said sweetly, "but I can't guarantee when I'll be up tomorrow, and I don't want to block you in."

Again they conferred. "Um, then can we park behind you?" "Oh, I've got more errands to run tonight," I said, thinking up a couple to change the white lie to truth. "I'll be in and out, and I can't be blocked in myself, you see." I was growing impatient with this idiotic selfishness, but Friendly Neighbors don't show such emotions. Finally, she sighed and said, "Okay, we'll move the car." Damn right you will. I smiled, thanked them sweetly, and told them I had to run to the grocery store. As I pulled out of the alley a block away, I did a little victory dance in my seat. And now, dear reader, I sit in my warm little house, car in my warm little garage, and a beautiful empty driveway behind it.