Chicagoans are really good at complaining about three things: the weather, sports and parking. Currently, I have no gripes about the first two, but the third, that one is a doozy.
To make up for the rats in my kitchen and the crime rate, my new neighborhood has the luxury of free street parking, that is, if you can find a spot. By the end of my year living in Rogers Park I’m sure I will have spent several days worth of my life driving around searching for parking. There are a few secrets (the lot at the end of my street that is free overnight, as long as you remember to move your car by 9 a.m. the next morning) and a few pitfalls which I learned the hard way my first few weeks of living in Chicago.
Sheridan road is a wonderful street that practically connects my apartment to my parent’s home in the suburbs. It winds along the lake with views of some of the most expensive real estate on the North Shore. It is a popular speed trap, but if you are smart, it is just a pleasant drive. One night after returning to the suburbs for my kickboxing class, I did the usual dance around the neighborhood in my car looking for that heavenly gift known as a parking space. As usual, it was not going well and every time my heart skipped after catching a glace of room between two cars, my dreams were quickly crushed by a fire hydrant of handicapped signs. Then a miracle! A perfect space on Sheridan just steps away from my apartment. I parked my car and left it there for days, afraid of having to go through the pain of finding a new space.