Parking’s A Beach

When it’s ninety-five degrees outside and the sun is giving me a mean ass-whooping, the only thing I can think of is dragging myself to the beach. Now, I know that the weather gods haven’t really been cooperating in my neck of the woods lately but the few times I’ve gone this summer, I find myself spending a lot more energy than I intended to. And it’s definitely in large part to parking. That’s right, PARKING! I always start off looking for open spaces along curbs and anywhere else I can get away with. I’m pretty sure you have a better chance of winning the lottery than actually finding a spot. The state beach parking spaces cost $15 (which is absolutely ridiculous, by the way) and it was packed in large thanks to soccer moms chaperoning swarms of locusts in the form of children. One look at the gleaming lot sends lightning-quick thoughts of turning right around and going home. No. I’m already here. It’ll be a waste if I go home now.

The last time, I ended up parking in some dude’s beach house. As I pulled in to grab a parking ticket and pay the attendant on duty, I asked him how much it was gonna cost me first. He goes, “Parking here is $30.” I just snapped. I go, “Dude, seriously, what the fuck?!” I calmed down and paid him anyway – gotta get my man-tan on. I angrily walked to the shore thinking to myself that next time I’m gonna ride a mountain bike the thirty-something miles it takes to get here from my house. At least I can park that bad boy anywhere I want without paying a sorry penny. I thought we were going through an economic crisis here, people! Just because you own an open lot across the street from the beach doesn’t mean you can charge anything you want. Ok you can, but it doesn’t mean you should! Between food and gas, parking fees should be the least of my worries. It’s funny how something as simple as parking makes me second-guess whether I should go to the beach or not. Anyone feel like driving me there today?