My Park(ing) Day

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Lunch in a parking spot is never much fun, unless it’s Park(ing) Day in San Francisco. Seizing the moment this afternoon, I packed a bowl of curry and headed two blocks down Sutter Street to a metered spot in front of the Charles Schwab building. I entered the space from the curb, ambled along an extremely short yet artfully snaking pathway lined with potted salt rush, blue squirrel tail and California lilac, and took a seat on a wooden park bench. Three park attendants watched eagerly. “Welcome to our park!” one of them said. They snapped photos as I stirred my rice. A bus blew by frighteningly close.

In 2005, Rebar, a San Francisco art collective, laid a parking space with sod, a bench and a large potted tree, creating the first of what would become many guerrilla parks. The event has grown into an international phenomenon, with participants this year in more than ten cities worldwide. The mission is “To rethink the way streets are used, call attention to the need for urban parks and improve the quality of urban human habitat. . .at least until the meter runs out!”

While I ate my chicken korma on the park bench, a park(ing) attendant handed a complimentary packet of poppy seeds to a businessman who’d stopped by. The businessman said, “Do they grow indoors? Or. . .”

“No, but you can try if you want, as long as you soak them first. . .”

My cell phone rang. It was a friend calling from Boston. “I’m at a guerrilla park,” I told him.

“That sounds awesome,” he said. “A very San Francisco day.”

A bit too San Francisco, perhaps. It was 3:00, and the inevitable, frigid Pacific gale was nearly toppling the shrubbery. Then the meter ran out: I still hadn’t finished my lunch when a woman arrived in a Volvo to haul the bench away. “I’m sorry, but we have got to take this,” she said. A park(ing) attendant quickly added: “Thank you!” I probably would have fared better in the Presidio, but the fact that other people had actually been excited to see me take up a parking spot–instead of scowling or writing me a ticket–made the trip well worth it.

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This is no time to come up short. It's time to fight like hell, as our namesake would tell us to do, for a democracy where minority rule cannot impose an extreme agenda, where facts matter, and where accountability has a chance at the polls and in the press. If you value our reporting and you can right now, please help us dig out of the $100,000 hole we're starting our new budgeting cycle in with an always-needed and always-appreciated donation today.

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