I know what you’re thinking. This parking lot series, it’s all right and all, but aren’t we going to run out of parking lots before we run out of spring quarter?
Food for thought. The answer? Yes and no. See, there’re still two more lots to explore and describe, mainly Lots H and I, but there are plenty of small, underrated satellite lots around which deserve more than a mere mention. So, if there’s enough time, they’ll get a special column all to themselves.
We can all breathe a little easier now.
It is, after all, really nice to know that after this week, there’re only two full weeks of school left. I, for one, have an extreme case of spring fever, and I’m betting you do, too. So let’s make this extrapolation on Lot H easy to read. Oh, yeah, and no more five-syllable words like “extrapolation,” okay? That’s a promise.
Now, as you may recall, we left Lots F and G last week with a pledge to give them a try. Did you? Come on, be honest. Hmmph, I thought not. I sure hope you don’t let down Jerry’s kids and PBS the way you just did these two worthy lots.
Well, if you didn’t even give those two a try, I don’t know what good it’s going to do to try and sell you on Lot H. It’s even further around the bend, back in the nether region of the campus yonder of the dorms. Therefore, it’s even more neglected.
Lot H is sad, too. Just like its friends F and G. The only difference is, Lot H is a bit more articulate. In fact, Lot H has decided to put its feelings into words, as best it can, with a little poem. (Please don’t laugh, this is Lot H’s first effort, after all.)
As I stand, staring, naked, alone
Clothed only with my white stripes
And lamp stands,
I wonder
Yea, in the heart of my bosom
Wherein lies my soul of pavement
I imagine a populace
With desire to pierce my emptiness
And fill my spaces...
O, please, come ye and park!
Or I shall perish here, languid and tormented
The rest of my days.
Don’t you want to be part of Lot H’s populace? Filling its empty bosom with the joy only favored lots like D and E have known in the past? Of course you do. And who knows, maybe Lot H will even mention you by name in its next ode. You could be famous!
Famous like my good buddy the Flying Rooster. This is the pseudonym for my newest e-mail contributor, who says, “you’re such a dork, but I mean that in a good way because your articles are hilarious [hey, thanks, your five bucks is in the mail -- ER]. Unfortunately for Lots G and F, I will have to abandon them [oh, great, you’ve got them crying again -- ER]. Fortunately, during this quarter, finding a parking [sic -- ER] is not such a nightmare for me [just wait ‘til the fall... heh heh heh, you’ll get yours -- ER]. Please don’t be offended, sorry. I just wanted to say that when I was reading your article. Well, keep up the good work [sick -- ER].”
Yes, well, thank you, Flying Rooster. Hey, if you lay an egg on the roof of a barn, does it roll to the north or to the south? Ha!
Anyway, I’m not offended at all. It’s the neglected, abandoned lots that are the losers here. I can park in them, but one car does very little to assuage the combined load of angst piled up in these back lots. How can you be so cruel? Hopefully next week you’ll have a better report. I happen to know Lot I is functionally illiterate; I’d hate to see what kind of poem we’ll get there.
E-mail me at eruff@runner.csub.edu with a good report. Come on, pierce Lot H’s emptiness, why don’t you. And remember, roosters don’t lay eggs.
Runner@csubak.edu