parking

11:30 on a Wednesday night, humid but not hot. We finished a late dinner and took the dog for a walk through silent Cobble Hill streets. As we were walking down Pacific and crossing Clinton we noticed a young blond woman walking across Clinton Street (like us), wearing a miniskirt, talking on a cell phone(not like us). A man standing on the stoop of a Clinton Street building walked down the stairs to intercept her. Wordless. No greeting, verbal or otherwise, was exchanged. Their hands met and they continued slowly down the sidewalk, holding hands. She still on the cell phone, he with one calf heavily tatttoed beneath his chino shorts. We were suddenly stuck just behind them, on an otherwise empty street -- they were walking just a bit too slowly and taking the whole sidewalk.

They turned the corner at Amity, which we needed to do too. We walked across Amity and turned on the southeast corner and back toward Court Street, so as to be no longer just behind them, but parallel, giggling madly.

"Did you see?"

"The ultimate hookup. No words exchanged."

Before we got to Court, the dog stopped to relieve himself, which slowed us down. When we got to the corner, Tattoo and Cell Phone Miniskirt had vanished. Where had they gone? Into the bar on the corner, some apartment building, the convenience store? It was about to become an enduring urban mystery, but as we approached our own apartment entrance, we saw them again. They were standing on the street, looking at a parking spot.

"Can I fit there?" Tattoo asked.

"Baby, mumble mumble mumble," Cell Phone Miniskirt replied.

Baby Tattoo walked back the way we had all come. Cell Phone Miniskirt remained standing in the parking spot. We went upstairs. I was still curious, so when I got in I went to the window and looked out onto the street. I had a perfect view. She was still standing in the street, holding the spot. Parking spot drama! Tomorrow is Thursday, time for ritual street cleaning and moving of the cars.

Nothing happened for a long stretch. I began to feel silly. Then a friend arrived: a brunette! She chatted with Cell Phone Miniskirt as they both stood in the space. A few cars went by, but did not try to park. We were consumed with curiousity as to what Baby Tattoo would drive.

Finally he arrived, in a burgundy Saab. He tried to parallel park, and failed. You could tell he had gone in at the wrong angle. He paused, half in and half out. Cell Phone Miniskirt took the wheel. She angled in more aggressively, but it was obviously not going to work. She tried again. No luck, despite encouragement and coaching from Baby Tattoo and the brunette.

The brunette took the wheel. She gave it a much better go than the other two, nearly scraping the car in front as she went in at a raking angle, and then energetically bumping the car behind to gain a few precious inches. Still. Stuck at an awkard diagonal. Still. Not giving up on the first try, as parallel parking wimps do, but trying again and again. Still! It became obvious that the car was just a bit too big, that this valiant effort was doomed to failure, and we sighed, watching, no longer laughing but rooting for her, feeling her pain.

Baby Tattoo and Cell Phone Miniskirt exhorted and encouraged. Then they gave up and started down the street, apparently in search of a better parking spot. Slowly, the burgundy Saab followed, leaving the ever-so-slightly-too-small parking spot empty and unconquered.

In Brooklyn, who needs television?