And a reoccurring nightmare: Will I one day have to park in a Joe's lot (god forbid), and wake-up to find my car stoned to death by vandals?
That is, of course, after I've now paid off everyone of my 60 car payments and finally, finally, finally own my trusty Ford Explorer!
Therein lies the problem of sorts. My Ford Explorer. Oh please, it's my landlord. No way, it's my parking space.
When I moved in, my landlord told me my parking space was X. Two months later, a note was left on my car by the building management that stated my parking space was Y. "What do you mean Y?" I yelled at Dory, the manager. Which made me feel bad, since she is really nice.
"Well, the space your landlord told you goes with your loft is not your space," she answered sweetly and firmly. "His unit has parking space Y. It is deeded to his loft." "Dory, if you would - would you show me his space?" And she did. It was big enough for a mini-Honda, a horse, or a scooter. I owned a Ford Explorer.
I bounded up four flights of steps (leaving Dory in the dust), and called my landlord. "What parking space is mine?" I wanted to know. "The one I gave you. I switched the space. I got it all cleared with the former manager."
"Did you look at your loft deed?" I asked. "Why do I need to do that?" he replied. "Because that is not your space. You rented me a unit with a parking space that is not yours to rent!" I pretty much screamed into the phone.
"Well, what do you want me to do?" he said. "FIXXXXXXXXX IT!" I shrieked back. I was so upset. I'm a single woman. I need to park in the building for security reasons. I have elderly parents I need to get to. I can't park a mile away with my groceries. Or leave my car naked at Joe's!
This is how it has been resolved. The space that is not mine, goes with a loft that to this day (six months later) has not been rented. The management has taken pity on me. They've let me park there UNTIL (big word) a new tenant moves in. My landlord sent out a few e-mails asking them to fix "it" (yeah, right). Every tenant (and owner) I've been able to corner - in the lobby, parking lot, elevator, at parties - knows my situation. They all shake their heads. "Nancy, you'll find away." They say soothingly.
No one wants to trade with me (my real parking space remains empty) since no one has a car as big as a go cart and oh did I leave out my space is right next to the trash dumpster?
So every night I have little technicolor nightmares. About a parking space. Or not. Or maybe.
My landlord, on the other hand, goes to sleep soundly in the Valley, with a parking space all his own.