Parking

During my sweet summer of living in Georgia, Jason often made the three hour trip to Commerce. Commerce is a tiny town right off the freeway. And while it hosts nearly every American fast food franchise, its other entertainment options are limited. Jason and I evaluated our choices and decided to go on a picnic. We packed our sandwiches, hopped in the car, and headed toward Sandy Point, a local park complete with wooden picnic tables and small lake. Here we could enjoy the sun from the shelter of shady trees. We could talk openly without the din of the dinner crowd. And best of all, we could avoid Atlanta traffic.



As we drove into the park, Jason passed the paved lot in favor of a verdant spot close to the water. Although I appreciated Jason’s desire to hoist our lunch over as short a distance as possible, I had a funny feeling about parking in the grass. Many parks take their vegetation way too seriously, and I didn’t want Jason to get into trouble.



By now, we had both opened our doors and were standing outside the car. But that vague sense of guilt still hung over me like day-old mascara. Turning to face Jason from across the roof of his Saturn, I cleared my throat.



“Jason,” I piped up, “could we park in the parking lot instead?” Jason turned toward me with focused eyes and furrowed brows. I softened my request with, “I really don’t mind walking a bit.”



Jason frowned in annoyance. We hadn’t seen any huge “No Parking” signs on the way in and were practically halfway there already. He probably felt like I was being overly legalistic. Yet instead of saying, “Katie, you worry too much,” and slamming the door, he humbly deferred with, “Well, I really want to serve you. So it’s your choice.”



“I think I’d rather go back, if that’s okay,” I answered. We returned to our seats and re-buckled our belts as mild tension wafted through the atmosphere. Jason turned the ignition and made a U-turn.



That’s when we saw them: four bold signs warning all vehicles from parking on the green. Since they were facing the opposite direction, we’d completely missed them before.



We drove back to the parking lot in silence. I considered mentioning my superior intuition and extracting a penitent concession from Jason, but soon thought the better of it. I didn’t want to ruin our picnic. And I had to give Jas some credit. Although he thought my request was silly, he’d still honored it.



Once we reached the pavement and were legitimately parked, we looked at each other and just laughed. Both of us had learned a little lesson in humility that day, even when it comes to parking.