The Daily Anguish of the Barrack Parking Lot

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Rebecca Shaid

I turn into the back entrance of Barrack Hebrew Academy. A bead of sweat drips down my face as I see the space in front of me that is supposed to fit one large yellow school bus (or a white Barrack half schoolbus) and 1 normal car. I don’t think I can make it. I look up to my rearview mirror and see the line of cars forming behind me. I have no other choice, I must get past. Images run through my head. The side of my car getting scratched on the weird metal guardrails that have undoubtedly given hundreds of people tetanus through the years. Or even worse, just completely wiping out the middle-aged mom’s side-view mirror next to me as I attempt to maneuver through.

I have no other choice, I take a deep breath and press the gas just hard enough to squeeze through. I breathe a breath of relief as I get through. Once I’m out of there I am smooth-sailing down the driveway. I put on my left turn signal. I look past to the parking lot. Someone’s taken my spot. Probably one of the annoying and too-old-for-their-grade underclassmen. Or one of those teachers that choose to take student spots when they have their own lot. I seek revenge. I pull into the lot and look behind me. Do I have time to back into a spot? Will I be holding everyone up behind me? I decide there’s no time. Anxious and stress-driven, I pull into the first spot I see. I’m not in the lines. I am not even close. I wait until there’s no cars coming and then fix my parking job. I get out of the car, lock it, and then walk into school, optimistic for the day ahead of me.

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