Parking problems end with help from unexpected savior

The answer to my parking woes, however, would come from an unlikely source. But before I go on, let me enlighten you with a little of my automotive history.

I got my first car when I was 18 years old. A little, black Dodge Shadow. It was compact and highly maneuverable. I named him Lamont. We went everywhere together, Lamont and me. To the beach, to the city, to school.

But a love affair as passionate as ours could not last forever. To make a long story short, Lamont apparently got car cancer or something and he died a pretty undignified death. But that is, of course, another story.

So car maintenance and repair has always given me stress. But this parking stuff was a whole new ball game. I mean, in the hushed, green hills of Suburbia, there is no such thing as a parking ticket. You just kinda put the car off to the side someplace where no one will run into it and that's that.

So you can imagine my surprise when I found that suburban rules don't apply in State College. I would like to state for the record that every time I got a ticket, my car was off to the side, out of all major roadways, not on the lawn or in a classroom building. It was just sitting quietly by the curb, minding its own little car business.

But the cruel beings at the parking authority refused so see the logic inherent in my system and the persecution continued. I was an outlaw, on the run from the authorities, just like Robin Hood, or Billy the Kid or O.J. Simpson.

This being a family newspaper (it has a wife and two little baby newspapers at home), I won't tell you word for word what she said to me. Let's just say she made it clear that, if I didn't find a more cost-effective method of transportation around this campus, she would do something so heinous, so horrible I shudder just to think of it: She would tell my grandmother. The outlaw was caught.

So, tail between my legs, I went to the Eisenhower Parking Deck and signed up for a semester pass for the Loop. Once again, this was a new experience for me, being a suburban dweller and all. The last time I participated in organized public transportation was in the eighth grade, and back then I would come home with marker drawings on my hands and gum in my hair. And the few times I rode a bus in Philadelphia have been permanently etched in my brain.

You know, there is a distinct smell of sweat and urine all over the city, but the buses are by far the most fragrant. And in the summertime? As they say in South Philly, "Foget abad it!" Anyway, I hoped that this experience would be a little bit better.

Monday morning I got up extra early and drove to Parking Lot 44. I parked the car and stood in the frigid morning air with other members of upstanding society and waited for the bus. As it roared around the bend, I realized the moment of truth arrived, and I stepped onto the bus.

So you want to know if I, a woman who has had a car of her own for almost as long as she has needed to go anywhere, could deal with riding public transportation, huh? The truth is, I actually enjoyed it. I especially like to sit on the seats that face the aisle. I feel like royalty, being chauffeured around. And they only put gum in my hair once so far. Not to mention, it gives me the opportunity to people watch.

One time, on a particularly crowded trip to the parking lot, a guy cleared the adjacent seat for a woman boarding the bus so he could hit on her. So he's talking to her, as smoothly as he can, and he looks up chuckling, partially at her comment and partially at his own suaveness. And then he sees his girlfriend get on at the next stop, and she was none too happy. You can't buy drama like that.

But, by far, the best part is, when I finally get to my car, I know that there won't be a ticket waiting for me.

I'd like to thank all the men and women who make it their business to drive my tochus around. My college experience would be much more expensive without you.