Jonny McCambridge: The parable of parallel parking paranoia

We may well be late. If we are it will have been caused by his insistence on wearing his Incredible Hulk pants today, a demand which led to a panicked last minute inventory of damp garments hung on steamy radiators. However, it seems uncharitable to mention that now so instead I just grit my teeth and tighten my grip on the steering wheel.

I’ve almost driven past before I notice the gap between two stationary cars. On a dark, snowy morning a parking space near the school is as rare as a newborn with whiskers, so I hurriedly apply the brakes and put on the left indicator.

However, as soon as I begin to reverse I feel something is not right, it’s an instinct which tells me that the positioning of the car is not quite as it should be. Perhaps I’m a little bit too far forward, or too far back. Or maybe I don’t turn the steering wheel far enough, or too much. I know from habit it’s wrong but I keep going.

I attempt to straighten the vehicle and, to be fair, some of it is in the parking space. Unfortunately more of it is encroaching onto the road and blocking the flow of traffic. I look out the side window, I can see the footpath which I want to park beside. It’s definitely within walking distance.

So I start trying to get my car closer to that path. I turn the steering wheel one way and reverse a little, then I turn the wheel the other way and go forward. I seem to be further from the pavement now.

I try switching the direction that I’m turning the wheel. Now the front of my car mounts the footpath while the rear hangs out towards the middle of the carriageway, as if I’m attempting some sort of audacious road-block.

My son, in the back seat, is watching me. He is impassive.

‘What are you doing daddy?’

‘I’m trying to park the car son.’

‘But why are you driving on the footpath daddy?’

‘It’s all because of your flipping Incredible Hulk pants!’ I answer unconvincingly.

Several minutes pass tortuously like this before I concede what has become clear, that I’m going to have to start again. I put on my right indicator and pull again into the busy school run traffic. The other cars stop and wait, growling impatiently while I steady myself, select reverse gear and try once again to execute the parallel park.

But there’s an inevitability to my ultimate failure now. I’m flustered and a little embarrassed and my hands seem to have lost their dexterity. Conscious that I was too far out last time I over-compensate with the steering wheel and soon feel the bump as one rear tyre lifts onto the footpath.

I try to straighten up but, such is my panic, that I’ve lost the ability to distinguish left from right. I jerk wildly at the steering wheel and feel the bump as my second rear tyre mounts the pavement. Now the front of my car is hanging out in the middle of the road, forcing traffic to go round it.

And then I just give up. Or to put it another way, my brain decides to close down. I’ve noticed this state of vacillation come over me before in moments of great stress. While my body is still in the car my mind has taken itself off to a sunnier place, a golden meadow where I’m playing with a labrador pup and picking daisies. It’s very enjoyable for a few moments, until a blast of a horn brings me back to reality. I look at my son in the back seat, his angelic features fixed on me.

‘Why has your face gone so red daddy?’

It’s not the fact that I’m not very good at parallel parking which bothers me, I’ve long ago reconciled myself to that failing. It’s the fact that I’m embarrassing myself in public. Again. I’ve convinced myself that everyone will be talking about me. Again.

Back in my days of therapy I used to chat to a lot of counsellors who attempted to help change the way I think. If a brain tends to dwell on the negative then there are techniques which can be used to separate thought from emotion, fact from prejudice, to teach the mind to be less self-critical. Part of this is reminding myself that other people obviously have better things to talk about than my deficiencies.

But on this morning, with my car jutting out onto a road at an unnatural angle and causing a traffic jam, it’s a struggle to believe that. Not only have I convinced myself that my pathetic parking will be all of the talk of the village for days, but I also fear that Netflix have already commissioned a 10 part series on the debacle, with Daniel Day-Lewis talked out of retirement to bring my tortured soul to life on the small screen.

There is nothing else to be done but to abandon the parking attempt altogether, to find another space far away where there are fewer cars. Swaziland would be good.

And so I drive away. In my rear-view mirror I’m sure I can see a granny parking a giant 4x4 in the same space on the first attempt. I drive around the corner and up the hill further away from the school. I park in a quieter spot, away from the constipation of congestion.

I turn off the engine and watch some of the other parents rushing with their children towards the school gates. Their faces are strained against the weather and it’s obvious that they don’t notice me in return. I relax because I can see things more clearly now. These people are not bothered with my deficiencies at parking or anything else. They have their own lives. I doubt now if any of them are even aware of me, let alone discussing my parallel parking.

Reassured, I step out of the car. My shoe slips on the snow and I slide painfully onto my backside in the middle of the pavement.

A young mother has to stop suddenly to avoid treading on my head.

I begin to vacillate again. I think I’ll just lie here in the snow for a bit.