Why Are You Backing into That Parking Spot Like You’re Planning a Heist?

A love letter to people who just pull in like normal humans.

There are a lot of things in this world I don’t understand, like why socks disappear in the laundry or how eggs can cost more than my dignity.

But perhaps the greatest mystery of all is this: Why are so many people backing into their parking spaces like they’re gearing up for a high-stakes getaway?

You’ve seen them.

You’re driving through the parking lot, full of hope, when suddenly you’re trapped behind someone who’s decided that now — right now — is the perfect time to rehearse their NASCAR pit crew routine.

They break.

They signal.

And then they begin the delicate dance of backing into a spot that could’ve been entered, oh I don’t know, maybe normally?

There’s always a dramatic pause and theatrical turning of the wheel, and then — wait for it — a correction.

Because no one ever backs in perfectly the first time, not even the people who pretend they do. They’ll reverse, adjust, reverse again, maybe accidentally take out a bush, then finally land in the spot in a way that’s maybe technically correct, but spiritually just offensive.

Meanwhile I’m sitting there behind them, stuck in a line of cars, watching the reverse parking opera unfold.

It’s like a one-man show called The Art of Inconveniencing Strangers. In the meantime, I have aged.

I’ve reconsidered my life choices.

I have had time to learn Spanish.

And they’re still not out of their car.

What’s the reason?

Some say it’s “more efficient” when leaving. Others claim it’s safer.

And sure, maybe if you’re planning a high-speed escape from Costco, that 30-second head start matters.

But for the rest of us fine folks who just want to grab paper towels and forget our problems in bulk, it’s merely an exercise in unnecessary driving drama.

And don’t get me started on the smugness.

Oh, the smugness!

The way they climb out of their car like they just defused a bomb.

Look at me, I’m parked in reverse and perfectly aligned with the painted lines. Congratulations sir or ma’am. You are the Michelangelo of modern parking!

Meanwhile, I could have already pulled in, turned off my car, and been halfway through my errand before your gearshift even hit park.

Not only is this just annoying to me, but it’s like 69 for cars. (Sorry to be crude.) It’s just not right — not to mention anatomically incorrect. Our driver seat doors can’t open properly. Your trunk does not belong by my hood.

Just no.

While it makes leaving the parking spot for you easy, it disturbs the copacetic rhythm for the natural balance of parking.

I know, I know — it’s a personal choice.

Some people alphabetize their spice rack. No judgment. Some people iron their socks. Who doesn’t like a bit of starch in their toe tents to make them crispy?

Some people back into their parking space like they’re about to rob a bank. But just once, I’d like to roll into a grocery store lot without feeling like I’m watching someone perform a three-minute TED talk on parking.

To those of you who do this, I still respect you.

I still love you.

But I’m watching you. Quietly.

From behind my steering wheel.

Wondering if you’re OK. Wondering if maybe — just maybe — you could pull in next time like the rest of us mere mortals.

Another tale of mild inconveniences that make me spiral and definitely test the limits of my patience ...

People who get into their car, clearly see me waiting for their parking spot, and then … just … sit.

Let’s paint the picture.

You’re driving through a packed parking lot, tense and hopeful, when suddenly a person walks to their car.

The clouds part. The angels sing.

You found your Wonka Golden Ticket — a spot that could be yours. If only you just wait a moment.

So you do. You put on your blinker, like a civilized human being.

You stop.

You give them space.

You sit there, full of joy and trust and maybe a little satisfaction that fate has smiled upon you.

And then …

They get in.

And they sit.

And sit.

And SIT.

What are you doing in there? Filing taxes? Writing a novel? Deep conditioning your soul?

Cause from where I’m sitting (in my legally idling car, trying not to lose my patience), it looks like you’re just scrolling through your phone. You were in such a hurry to get into the car; where did that sense of urgency go?

I start wondering: should I honk? Is that rude? Is that aggressive? Would it make me look like the villain when clearly the villain is a person leisurely scrolling TikTok while holding my entire afternoon hostage?

And let’s talk about eye contact — or rather, the complete and total avoidance of it.

They know I’m there.

They know I’m waiting.

But suddenly, they’ve adopted the blind faith of someone who thinks if they don’t acknowledge me, I must not exist.

In the meantime, I’ve aged six years.

And then that thing happens — you know what I’m talking about, right?

You finally make the dark choice to simply leave and face the shame of driving away with your tail between your legs — or for today’s purposes, your tailpipe between your tires.

Slowly.

Sadly.

Like a character in a French film who just left the love of their life in a parking lot.

The embarrassment so strong that your ancestors feel it.

I don’t wanna be dramatic (too late) but I’ve had emotional breakups that hurt less than losing a parking spot after waiting for it like a hopeful idiot.

So if you’re one of those people: I beg you. I’m not asking for much. Just 10 seconds of a situational awareness and the decency to move your car so I can take your spot and continue living my life with some decorum.

Or at least pretend to put the car in reverse and give me some hope.

A gesture.

A wink.

A smoke signal.

Something.

Otherwise …

I wish you peace, love, and a drive home filled with red lights, road construction, and traffic backup.

With warmth and gratitude, that’s my Reveal.

Love,

Karin