I woke up last night in a cold sweat gasping for air only to realize I was safe at home in bed. No, I wasn’t having nightmares about the new IT movie, rather, I was having a reoccurring nightmare that comes during the first two weeks of each semester, as I have to relive the pain and agony of searching for a parking space.

On the first day of school this semester, it took me a total of 45 minutes to find a parking spot. In that amount of time, all the ice in my iced coffee had melted, and I had listened to Taylor Swift’s new single at least a dozen times.

Trying to find a parking spot the first two weeks of school is harder than Steve Harvey trying to figure out who the real Miss Universe is.

As I slowly made my way up to the roof, I just kept asking myself what I did to deserve this. Was it because I didn’t tip my barista that morning? Was it karma for cutting off an old lady on my way to school?

Whatever it was, I was trapped. I felt like James Franco in “127 Hours.

45 minutes after entering the parking structure, I ended up taking one of the last parking spaces on the rooftop.

I felt bad for all the cars lined up behind me. Is this what the animals on Noah’s ark felt like when it reached capacity?

I tried not to make eye contact with anyone who didn’t get a parking spot as I made my way to another line, the line to buy a parking pass.

This didn’t take anywhere near as long, but I could tell by the looks of frustration on everyone’s face that they felt the same way I did… over it. And this was only Monday.

The next few days felt like “Groundhog Day,” or more importantly my favorite version of “Groundhog Day,” “Elmo Saves Christmas,” as I had to wait in the same lines over and over.

Not only was finding a parking spot a Tom Cruise film, but trying to exit the structure at the end of the day became a mission of all of itself.

Yesterday was the worst wait I have experienced ever in my 4 semesters here at PCC. It brought me back to trying to leave the Hollywood Bowl after a James Taylor concert.

For those of you as full of road rage as Dwayne “the rock” Johnson and myself, there is hope. After the first couple weeks, as more and more people drop out of their early morning classes, the hunt for a parking space becomes easier and less time consuming.

In the meantime, tip your baristas and don’t cut off elderly women, and hope for the best.

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