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Parking Garages
Oh how I hate ye...
I loathe ye!
I desire the earth to be torn asunder beneath thy fowl foundations and thy fall into the fiery pits below for eternity!
Ye confusing masses of steel and concrete!
Ye brutal collections of inter-connecting ramps and slopes that would confuse and bewilder even M.C. Escher should he fall into your diabolical pit?
Thou evil rising jumbles that theoretically have both an entrance and an exit. Yet I enter your soulless bowels always wondering if they are truly connected and I shall emerge from those artificial intestines victorious once again to tow another day, or be subsumed by architectural chaos, drug down into another dimension, and leave behind only a faded "Friendly Neighborhood Towing" ballcap and the whiff of diesel to forever haunt your grease and rubber tainted hallways like the Flying Dutchman?
Thy possessor of evil 90 degree angle turns that maw at the tires of my dolly wheels, snap at my rear view mirrors, and hunger for the paint of my bumper corners, to say nothing of my customer's car! Thou, the inventor of the improbable 6' 5'' overhead clearance that snags my radio antennae at every fifth pace and salivates at the chance to devour that very expensive light bar assembly atop my roof were it not able to flip down and hide beneath the roll-over bar like a frightened child!
Thy exit gates, sharper than a serpent's tooth! They lure me forth as they open, only to mercilessly attempt to close onto my customer's car as I pass... so that I must call forth aide from the Municipal Parking Department Priest who has the magical key to force you to open and stay open until he bids you to close!
What sadistic fiend's drawing board did thou jump from and into a living nightmare?! Why must you be so?!
But worst of worst are the evil trolls that patrol your insides, this barbarous collection of half-shaven apes that call themselves "Security" but are only one evolutionary rung removed from the lichen and fungi that spawned them!
Oh, I know in my heart of hearts that security guards fill this great land who are both brave and bold and committed to doing their jobs with the utmost professionalism. Cast me not upon fratching! I wish you only safety and hospitality, brave men and women! But, parking garage, why must thou always be populated by security "guards" who have obviously flunked the muster call for the job? By those who's disposition towards the world at large could best be described as "dyspeptic"? By those who's physical condition is very less than stellar? Who's girth and stature are such that if they were to fall to the ground I doubt they would be able to rise again under their own feeble muscle power? That they would probably roll all the way down to the bottom of your apparatus and tumble out the gate like a gumball leaving it's machine?
And pray tell security guard, why must thou read me the Riot Act when I am forced to block traffic for a whole FOUR MINUTES to load a disabled car? From thy words and inflection, you seem to think this is an affront to your masculinity! That I have committed an offense as grave as Regicide upon your kingdom!
"THOUST ART BLOCKING TRAFFIC!" you bluster.
And how exactly am I to remove this young maiden's VW from your hellhole without turning and backing into it?
"PUT THE KEY IN AND BACK IT OUT INTO THE AISLE, THEN LOAD IT!" you demand.
Ah, but good Sir, therein lies the problem. Young maiden's magical key to start her VW has broken, snapped in two betwixt it's head and shaft in the door, thus this mechanical steed cannot be entered, started nor even coaxed into neutral to roll to a more suitable place.
"WELL YOU'RE HOLDING UP EVERYONE!" you declare
True, but the people who must wait as I load or service a car inside never seem to mind the wait. I have never been called a name nor subjected to honking and angry horns on their part! They can see that I am doing my best to remove this wad of arterial plaque from the great circulatory system of the parking garage, and doing so is worth their patience! In fact, that line of cars before us now has grown from 3 to 8 and will continue to grow the longer you insist on dressing me down instead of leaving me to work, and yet, not a single horn has sounded!
"MAKE IT QUICK!" you demand
I get back to work now, and in response, you scribe some nasty remarks on your clipboard and waddle off to your cave, as both I and my young maiden customer are quite befuddled at your open hostility. So I drop to my knees and with my hands extended to the heavens I can only rage
PAAAAAAAAARRRRRRKING GARAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGEEE!!!!
Oh how I hate ye...
I loathe ye!
I desire the earth to be torn asunder beneath thy fowl foundations and thy fall into the fiery pits below for eternity!
Ye confusing masses of steel and concrete!
Ye brutal collections of inter-connecting ramps and slopes that would confuse and bewilder even M.C. Escher should he fall into your diabolical pit?
Thou evil rising jumbles that theoretically have both an entrance and an exit. Yet I enter your soulless bowels always wondering if they are truly connected and I shall emerge from those artificial intestines victorious once again to tow another day, or be subsumed by architectural chaos, drug down into another dimension, and leave behind only a faded "Friendly Neighborhood Towing" ballcap and the whiff of diesel to forever haunt your grease and rubber tainted hallways like the Flying Dutchman?
Thy possessor of evil 90 degree angle turns that maw at the tires of my dolly wheels, snap at my rear view mirrors, and hunger for the paint of my bumper corners, to say nothing of my customer's car! Thou, the inventor of the improbable 6' 5'' overhead clearance that snags my radio antennae at every fifth pace and salivates at the chance to devour that very expensive light bar assembly atop my roof were it not able to flip down and hide beneath the roll-over bar like a frightened child!
Thy exit gates, sharper than a serpent's tooth! They lure me forth as they open, only to mercilessly attempt to close onto my customer's car as I pass... so that I must call forth aide from the Municipal Parking Department Priest who has the magical key to force you to open and stay open until he bids you to close!
What sadistic fiend's drawing board did thou jump from and into a living nightmare?! Why must you be so?!
But worst of worst are the evil trolls that patrol your insides, this barbarous collection of half-shaven apes that call themselves "Security" but are only one evolutionary rung removed from the lichen and fungi that spawned them!
Oh, I know in my heart of hearts that security guards fill this great land who are both brave and bold and committed to doing their jobs with the utmost professionalism. Cast me not upon fratching! I wish you only safety and hospitality, brave men and women! But, parking garage, why must thou always be populated by security "guards" who have obviously flunked the muster call for the job? By those who's disposition towards the world at large could best be described as "dyspeptic"? By those who's physical condition is very less than stellar? Who's girth and stature are such that if they were to fall to the ground I doubt they would be able to rise again under their own feeble muscle power? That they would probably roll all the way down to the bottom of your apparatus and tumble out the gate like a gumball leaving it's machine?
And pray tell security guard, why must thou read me the Riot Act when I am forced to block traffic for a whole FOUR MINUTES to load a disabled car? From thy words and inflection, you seem to think this is an affront to your masculinity! That I have committed an offense as grave as Regicide upon your kingdom!
"THOUST ART BLOCKING TRAFFIC!" you bluster.
And how exactly am I to remove this young maiden's VW from your hellhole without turning and backing into it?
"PUT THE KEY IN AND BACK IT OUT INTO THE AISLE, THEN LOAD IT!" you demand.
Ah, but good Sir, therein lies the problem. Young maiden's magical key to start her VW has broken, snapped in two betwixt it's head and shaft in the door, thus this mechanical steed cannot be entered, started nor even coaxed into neutral to roll to a more suitable place.
"WELL YOU'RE HOLDING UP EVERYONE!" you declare
True, but the people who must wait as I load or service a car inside never seem to mind the wait. I have never been called a name nor subjected to honking and angry horns on their part! They can see that I am doing my best to remove this wad of arterial plaque from the great circulatory system of the parking garage, and doing so is worth their patience! In fact, that line of cars before us now has grown from 3 to 8 and will continue to grow the longer you insist on dressing me down instead of leaving me to work, and yet, not a single horn has sounded!
"MAKE IT QUICK!" you demand
I get back to work now, and in response, you scribe some nasty remarks on your clipboard and waddle off to your cave, as both I and my young maiden customer are quite befuddled at your open hostility. So I drop to my knees and with my hands extended to the heavens I can only rage
PAAAAAAAAARRRRRRKING GARAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGEEE!!!!
Wow.
).
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