This is my first year as an off-campus student. I've had my car here for three years, but it rested comfortably in its pricey university parking lot - until now.
I thought the highlight of living off Ohio University property would be the convenience of traveling ten paces to my car, as opposed to the 15-minute walk from Perkins Hall to The Convo I took as a freshman.
I vowed off-campus living would be more convenient than another year in a residence hall. I didn't care how large my bedroom was or if a washer or dryer would be provided; as long as I had accessible transportation, I would be happy.
The housing contract promised off-street parking. The old renters said, Oh
no problem. There's always plenty of spaces on the street. I signed away.
The first week of official Grosvenor Street residence my roommate received a parking ticket. Not moving a car within a 24-hour period apparently is a violation of city code. Now, we check our tires for a chalked line - and then promptly wipe it off.
We do have a driveway, shared with our neighbors. It's made of brick and has a viciously sharp incline. In the fall it was no problem to drive up the slope, make a sharp turn to the right and park in the yard. But the onslaught of January weather has forced us (for fear of being stuck in the mud) to fight for parking on the street.
Wednesday morning around 3:30 I was finally released from duties at The Post and wanted nothing more than to sleep for four hours before class.
In my car, I circled the block, but there was absolutely no curbside available. Should I risk parking in front of a fire hydrant? I was desperate and the driveway was the only option left.
Partway in, the tires began turning in place; the car stuck where it was. I tried to back out but found this was not an option. I gripped the emergency brake, put it in place and turned the car off. I opened my door, stepped outside and fell flat on my back. Discovering thick, glacier-like saucers immobilizing my car, I decided to go to bed and hoped no one needed the driveway the next morning.
Even after a full day of salt soaked tires and warmer weather my car remained frozen. Just when I was about to grab the bathroom rugs to use as traction, a voice called to me. He stood below, offering his assistance and advice like a prophet of GoodYear. Without introduction, I handed him the keys and he assessed the situation. This stranger gently suggested I push on the trunk of the car while he attempted to rock the tires away from the ice. Soon, two more men approached and before I knew it the car was safely back on level ground. I thanked them, and they left as quickly as they had come, leaving me with a running car and a new spirit of good Samaritanism.
Athens will never be my permanent home, but I have a deep appreciation for its residents. This poor, sleep-deprived journalist will forever be indebted to the kindred souls who make Athens their lifelong home. No matter how many parking tickets I will continue to be issued, it's more livable knowing there are those who survive its intricacies better than I do. For that, I am grateful. 17
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Sara Bisker
