I’ve heard that in London, people have been known to bequeath parking spots to people in their wills, as part of their estate. When I moved back to Los Angeles after a year and a half in San Francisco, I thought to myself, “Wow, I can’t complain about the parking in L.A. anymore, it’s nowhere near as bad as San Francisco.”
Yeah, well, it’s bad enough.
Other than that year and a half in the Bay Area, I’ve lived in this building in the middle of Hollywood almost ten years. Now I’m up to my eyeballs in Boxes and Clutter; I have to move ’cause my parking went away.
Hear how parking has forced me from my home after the jump.
So, I’ve been right here, just off of Sunset and Highland, for a long time. I like it here. When I was ready to come back from the Bay I moved right into the same building. The Manager’s a friend of mine. I took the unit sight unseen and no regrets. I have a view of the Hollywood sign and I can even see fireworks from the Hollywood Bowl.
One of my only questions about the apartment from my cell phone in SF: “What about parking?”
The building was built in the twenties; there’s only six spots. For most of the time I’ve lived here, we’ve paid to park in the office building across the street, in their attached garage. The manager of that garage has long hated this. He apparently makes more money valeting office workers cars in there, or something. For years he’s been trying to get the owners to turn out the neighbors who’ve been parking there since they opened the joint. There’s room. I don’t know what his deal is, but there’s an extra buck for him to be made somewhere.
So, the garage gets sold, and the new owners basically ask this guy what he wants to change. Bam! I’m out on my ass. He’s the damn Grinch. The Grinch who Jacked my Parking. He’s the banker guy in “It’s Wonderful life,” only with less class and a persistent aroma of petrol fumes.
I can still rent a parking space. I just can’t be in there from 10AM to 5PM Monday through Friday, under any circumstances. And that’s for only five dollars more than I was paying before.
Here’s the trouble: I work nights. I don’t leave for work until 6. There’s no street parking here. The street in front of my place is two hour max during the day. The closest spot I can park without getting a ticket is two blocks away and jealously guarded. Usually it’s four or five blocks away, after half an hour of circling waiting for the club kids to pull out so I can go the hell home. Good luck should I decide I want to go home before 2:30 in the morning, say if I have a night off, or something crazy. I could park at the HiHo Mall, but it’s just far enough away that I just can’t. Anything far enough to make me seriously consider taking Public Transportation to get to my freaking car is too far.
Running six blocks pushing tourists out of my way like a linebacker, ’cause I’m running late for work doesn’t sound like a hell of a lot of fun, really, anyway.
So, I’m moving. I love this place, this has been my neighborhood for a long time, but I’m moving. I going “Beverly Hills Adjacent,” which threatens to nauseate me, but the street is permit. I’m truly sad. I’m literally going to have to grieve losing my little spot in Hollywood. I’ve shed blood, sweat and tears in this apartment. I hate to go.
Later, McCadden Place, I’m going to miss you.