In pursuit of parking lot perfection

By Christie Genochio

Imagine a 400-pound woman trying to squeeze herself into a size 6 pair of jeans.

Seriously.

Wriggling and squirming, sucking in her breath until she's flushed from oxygen deprivation and her facial muscles are contorted and quivering with strain, she'll be lucky if her pants don't explode in a manner comparable to a carnival fireworks display or, far worse, she might horribly injure herself in the process.

Honestly, the restrictive denim of the low-rise boot-cut jeans could cut off circulation to her legs, causing her to topple over and crash into an unfortunately-placed piece of furniture, the impact sending her plummeting into a coma from which she'll awaken a month later, only to discover she's been rendered irreparably amnesiac, and all because she's too big for her pants!

Well, that is exactly what it's like trying to park in the CW lot on the corner of Market and Lafayette.

A tiny plot of land consisting of 43 spaces packed into five anorexic rows, that parking lot is a veritable asphalt obstacle course. Like lab mice scurrying through a maze, it often takes multiple wrong-turns and several near-catastrophes before the long-sought morsel of cheese, or parking space, is claimed.

The problem is that there are simply too many cars crammed into too small a space. With residents of Dunne, Swig, McLaughlin and Walsh Halls all vying for a finite number of parking permits, CW parking is simply inadequate.

I'm not too proud to whine. Sobrato citizens have underground parking, so why can't we? Or how about a structure somewhere, anywhere, as long as it's closer than the Leavey lot on the opposite end of campus?

Maybe engineering students could get involved. Let them put some of their practical magic, using angles and whatnot, to good use; they should design a parking lot that actually makes sense.

Actually, I'd settle for a restriction put on SUVs parking in the current lot.

It's not that I don't like big cars. I bear no ill will to either the automobiles or their owners. But the exact width of those parking spaces is 80 inches, and the posterior of a Chevy Suburban is exactly 79.8. This means that when I'm pulling my sassy little 1991 Acura Integra (with beige corduroy interior) up next to one of those vehicular behemoths, I'm holding my breath and praying that the driver of the beast didn't miscalculate and waste those precious tenths of an inch.

How many scuffed fenders and bruised bumpers does it take to inspire change, to mobilize the masses to answer the call to arms and seek a revolution of unprecedented proportions? Must every car in the Dunne lot be victimized? Is it some sort of initiation rite of grave import that justifies the hideousness of the inflicted scars?

I mean, really. The business school is getting a new home, a new library is in the works and the baseball team awaits its new stadium.

So where's my parking space?

û Contact Christie Genochio at (408) 554-4852 or mgenochio@scu.edu.