funny, not bad

I managed a day without violating NJ Highway Authority rules and regulations. I also did not park in executive or security personnel spaces at work today, nor did I stall out by accidentally down-shifting while trying to pass in the left lane. I’m also very proud of the fact that I never once drove onto the bridge with the emergency brake on. If I was a bettor, I would have put money on doing that first.
I felt so confident tonight (all those vehicular demons behind me) that, instead of pulling into my regular, crappy and double-occupied outdoor lot, I went crazy and parallel parked on the street in the dark. I did not rush out of the driver’s seat the way I usually do, out of stress and a delayed disbelief that I had actually made another trip back alive.
I was now a self-actualized adult-commuting-Woman-driver-with-a-grown-up-coat, so I paused after extending The Club inside the steering wheel and spent a leisurely 2 minutes cleaning garbage out of the leg space of the passenger side: an assortment of paper coffee cups and Starbucks napkins (it occurred to me at this point to finally forgive my mother for the constant pile of trash she always had in the front seats of her cars). My mind wandered a minute longer, thinking about all of the womanhood behaviors I should now probably engage in, like regular manicures and large purse appreciation. But then it dawned on me that it wasn't a good idea to sit in a dark car on an unlit NYC street, so I exited. My half-reverie ended, though, when I glanced back and saw the 2 foot gap between my tires and curb.
As I reparked the car, my mind, this time humbled, recalled the disapproving gaze of the gas station attendant who works at the Exxon I go to. From under half-open lids, he looks at me, when I pull in, as if I were an alien who read about how to drive yesterday. This never angers me though because I can't blame him for lack of patience: the first few times I stopped there I did not know how to open my gas tank. I would call Ian to ask (since it was his stupid German car), wondering the whole time if my cell phone activation would make the station blow up. With the phone cradled in my neck, I would push, pull and rotate all protrusions on the dash and around my seat. One of these 20 actions would inevitably cause the fuel tank door to pop open but I would never know what secret lever had done it, hence the several calling incidents.

It occurred to me as I walked away from my parked car tonight for the second time, that I was not so much a bad driver as a funny driver.