When I was 19, I had a waitressing job at a bar. One night at work, a group of friends brought up the subject of my upcoming birthday. I was lamenting the fact that, during my teenage years, I had never had the opportunity to go parking, and that my chances of ever experiencing this teenage tradition were narrowing with my looming birthday.
One of the friends, Ed, a local radio DJ, was in on the conversation. Ed was a lanky, gentle guy, standing about 6’4”. He told me he would be happy to help me solve my dilemma, and what was I doing after work? I cocked my head at him, smiled, and said, “Done!”
After work, in the wee hours of the morning, we climbed into his VW bug and headed to the woods. The next day, I crossed that teen requisite off my mental list and wrote a poem to commemorate the event, which I sent to him. We remained friends.
The poem went as follows:
The car was too small,
or he was too tall.
But the long and the short of it
was nothing at all.
PS That was fun. Thanks, Ed.
Turns out, parking with a friend in a tiny car is an excellent opportunity for a really good talk.