We have had a brutal winter here in New England. Record cold, record snow. I have spent countless hours shoveling the driveway and the sidewalks. And once, early in the winter, I shoveled the street in front of my house, to make room for someone – a guest or a neighbor – who might need a place to park. I gave up on that after the third 2-foot storm. It just got to be too much, with no obvious benefit to me.
Meanwhile, my across-the-street neighbor, who has a pickup truck with a small plow, carved out a space in front of my next-door neighbor’s house. He also did not keep up with the snow, but was able to 4-wheel over the ice to park there. However, because of the shoddy plowing job, his car jutted out into our narrow street, creating a hazard. I would not have been able to get my truck past his truck, should I have chosen to drive it rather than leaving it parked in the driveway. But, more to the point, there was no way a fire engine could have made it down the street.
But I didn’t say anything.
Last Friday we were visited by Jett’s two sisters. When I arrived home from work I found their car in the driveway. I looked for a spot on the back street, but, finding none there, decided to park in the empty space semi-cleared by my neighbor.
In Boston proper, it is a time-honored tradition that he who shovels out a parking space “owns” the space for some period of time – typically two weeks. Ownership is claimed by putting a “space saver” – a chair, small table or traffic cones – in the space. Those who ignore this ownership marker risk having their vehicle vandalized.
But even Boston limits this quasi-private ownership of public space. Making allowances for the extremely harsh winter, Boston allowed these space-savers to remain in place nearly a month. But about two weeks ago the city announced that space-savers were verboten and would be collected by the DPW.
I have rarely seen any space-savers in use in my suburban town, primarily, I think, because space is not so precious. My neighbor never used a space-saver and, in any case, the few seconds it took him to carve out the space with his plow hardly earned him any ownership rights. The question, in my mind, was why he didn’t carve out a few more since it was so easy.
Anyway, back to Friday. As Jett, her sisters and I were discussing take-out options, we got a knock on our door. Jett answered. It was our neighbor, whom we have never met, who introduced himself by saying “You are parked in my spot!” Jett was taken aback, but stood her ground, bless her heart. She denied that he had any right to the public space. But he asserted that it was “his.” Jett fetched me.
To me – without bothering to introduce himself – he again belligerently asserted his ownership of the space. I said “Are you serious?” – not quite believing that anyone could seriously be claiming ownership after such a long time. He said that he had “dug out the spot” (a small lie since he had done no digging at all), then, without even waiting for my response, said “You guys don’t do shit around here.”
I was stunned. And furious. After all, I had cleared my sidewalk after every storm (which is more than some on the street could claim) and have worked diligently at keeping the property looking good. Who was this guy and what was he talking about? Didn’t matter, really. As he stomped down my front steps I followed him, cursing him along the way.
I had planned to find another space after leaving to get the take-out, but as I watched him rearrange the cars in his driveway (yes, he could have parked off-street but was too lazy to move the cars around), I lost whatever vestige of sympathy remained.
When I came back with the food, I parked again in the disputed spot.
I may go out and clear it a bit more. Then put down a space-saver.
Jerk.
“You guys don’t do shit around here”
We have had a brutal winter here in New England. Record cold, record snow. I have spent countless hours shoveling the driveway and the sidewalks. And once, early in the winter, I shoveled the street in front of my house, to make room for someone – a guest or a neighbor – who might need a place to park. I gave up on that after the third 2-foot storm. It just got to be too much, with no obvious benefit to me.
Meanwhile, my across-the-street neighbor, who has a pickup truck with a small plow, carved out a space in front of my next-door neighbor’s house. He also did not keep up with the snow, but was able to 4-wheel over the ice to park there. However, because of the shoddy plowing job, his car jutted out into our narrow street, creating a hazard. I would not have been able to get my truck past his truck, should I have chosen to drive it rather than leaving it parked in the driveway. But, more to the point, there was no way a fire engine could have made it down the street.
But I didn’t say anything.
Last Friday we were visited by Jett’s two sisters. When I arrived home from work I found their car in the driveway. I looked for a spot on the back street, but, finding none there, decided to park in the empty space semi-cleared by my neighbor.
In Boston proper, it is a time-honored tradition that he who shovels out a parking space “owns” the space for some period of time – typically two weeks. Ownership is claimed by putting a “space saver” – a chair, small table or traffic cones – in the space. Those who ignore this ownership marker risk having their vehicle vandalized.
But even Boston limits this quasi-private ownership of public space. Making allowances for the extremely harsh winter, Boston allowed these space-savers to remain in place nearly a month. But about two weeks ago the city announced that space-savers were verboten and would be collected by the DPW.
I have rarely seen any space-savers in use in my suburban town, primarily, I think, because space is not so precious. My neighbor never used a space-saver and, in any case, the few seconds it took him to carve out the space with his plow hardly earned him any ownership rights. The question, in my mind, was why he didn’t carve out a few more since it was so easy.
Anyway, back to Friday. As Jett, her sisters and I were discussing take-out options, we got a knock on our door. Jett answered. It was our neighbor, whom we have never met, who introduced himself by saying “You are parked in my spot!” Jett was taken aback, but stood her ground, bless her heart. She denied that he had any right to the public space. But he asserted that it was “his.” Jett fetched me.
To me – without bothering to introduce himself – he again belligerently asserted his ownership of the space. I said “Are you serious?” – not quite believing that anyone could seriously be claiming ownership after such a long time. He said that he had “dug out the spot” (a small lie since he had done no digging at all), then, without even waiting for my response, said “You guys don’t do shit around here.”
I was stunned. And furious. After all, I had cleared my sidewalk after every storm (which is more than some on the street could claim) and have worked diligently at keeping the property looking good. Who was this guy and what was he talking about? Didn’t matter, really. As he stomped down my front steps I followed him, cursing him along the way.
I had planned to find another space after leaving to get the take-out, but as I watched him rearrange the cars in his driveway (yes, he could have parked off-street but was too lazy to move the cars around), I lost whatever vestige of sympathy remained.
When I came back with the food, I parked again in the disputed spot.
I may go out and clear it a bit more. Then put down a space-saver.
Jerk.
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