Commentary by Ethan Caughey
Oct. 20, 2015
Light slides through the cracks in the blanket. The neighborhood comes awake and cars begin to stream through the streets. It’s Tuesday morning.
I arrived at the UC at 8:40 p.m., weighing the odds of getting a parking ticket versus walking eight blocks. The only guarantee is I wouldn’t be paying for parking willingly. However, I was feeling generous last night, so I emptied six nickels into the meter. I knew I’d be in the UC longer than whatever amount of time six nickels adds up to, but at least I’d sleep easy. I like to think that those six nickels will contribute to making the world a better place, but they probably just go toward buying gallons of purple paint for the incoming freshman next fall and their quest to paint the town purple.
My class only lasted 20 minutes. As soon as I turned the corner, I broke into a dead sprint toward my car, tossing a flurry of prayers out against whatever forces of evil parking tickets come from. Another night home free, yet homeless.
As a commuter, the worst combination is night class followed by 8 a.m.’s. I spent a couple Monday nights on a friend’s three-season porch on Prairie St., but his housemate wasn’t my biggest fan to begin with, especially with my alarm going off at 5:30 a.m. Then there were the Monday nights spent at a friend’s tiny apartment above Ground Zero. After a month into the semester, he got a girlfriend. Let’s just say that three’s a crowd. Now Monday nights consist of urban camping.
It’s Tuesday morning and before the surrounding houses light up, I slide out from under the covers and climb over the middle console into the driver’s seat. It’s time to leave this wonderful neighborhood on the outskirts of Whitewater that let me sleep undisturbed through the night and make my way to an empty parking lot. I’ve got a jug of water that I use for washing up and brushing my teeth which is situated next to a small camping stove and a cooler half-packed with food. During my two-hour break today, I’ll come back to my SUV that I borrowed from my parents, and I’ll change into old clothes that are willing to get sweaty. After a short run, my cooler will provide me with yet another Tuesday afternoon PB&J.
Amidst all of this, I will stand halfway in the street and stare back as all of the passing cars pass judgment. I will receive all of the glaring eyes through all of the glaring headlights, and I will continue to smile and wave for one reason: I’m not paying for parking.
