Alternate-Side Parking and a Near-Death Experience

One of the things I miss about living in the suburban CT town of my youth is the simple luxury of having a place to park. I'm not talking about when I drove to school, work or the store -- I mean when I went to my house.

Having a driveway is a luxury 99.99% of New Yorkers do not have, so twice a week the husband and I have the pleasure of circling Park Slope and Windsor Terrace in search of a spot before getting stuck with an alternate-side parking infraction. I usually bring Riley the pup with me, my co-captain if you will. Last month, that proved to be a bad decision.

I had just found a great spot on Windsor Pl near Prospect Park West and was feeling pretty proud of myself. I grabbed my bag and the leash, got out of the car and walked to the back door next to the sidewalk to let Riley out. Well, damned if the little fucker didn't jump over my arm and out onto the sidewalk, unleashed.

He looked at me for about two seconds before he took off down the street like a prisoner on death row who just found the warden's keys. I dropped my bag, my keys, tripped out of my flipflops and left the car door open as I took off after him, screaming "Riley, Riley, STOP!!!" as onlookers stared, laughed and tried to grab him as he ran past them.

At the corner, he actually stopped and crossed Windsor in the crosswalk before darting across Prospect Park West in 7pm traffic. Maybe the proximity to Holy Name kept him safe, because he made it across unscathed and continued up the block and right into the fucking Pet Store! Thank God for that pet shop owner who held my wild beast of a dog until I got there (and God of course, thank You too).

The guy had to take the leash from me as my hands were shaking too hard to attach it to his harness. I took a few seconds to thank him and catch my breath during what turned into a full-blown asthma attack, before realizing that A. I was barefoot B. I had left my car door wide open and C. I did not have my shoes, purse or car keys.

I cursed Riley as I walked him back towards the car, smiling at all the people who said "Bad boy, Riley" as we walked by, hoping that my car/shoes/purse hadn't been stolen to put the icing on the cake. But quite the contrary...

The guy who works at the shop near where I parked had my flipflops for me. A lady walking by had my keys and handed them to me. My purse was still on the sidewalk next to the open car door, where a man sitting on a stoop was watching them for me.

You don't hear about the kindness of New Yorkers enough -- on that day, my faith was reaffirmed. Thanks, Brooklyn.