The Parking Lot - Poem
Updated: Oct 14
A poem about the minor chaos of a shared space. In “The Parking Lot,” Greg Luti watches a workplace absorb a renovation, from early warnings to the steady rise of complaints about parking, timing, and who decided this was necessary.
I was the first to get into work.
Before my co-workers
Before the hassle of the day.
I walked along the dirt grass outside of the emergency tape to avoid the road.
Two projects:
One for the parking lot, one for a building.
Neither of which I knew much about.
Before I enter the office, I stare at the structure in the distance, only seeing a familiar framework of a building and the name of the plaza.
“I wonder what they are making that building.”
I alert all the co-workers of the project that none will be happy about: the parking lot.
So you know, they are working on the parking lot, and it may be hard for you to get a spot today.
A few answer the group chat with appreciation towards the tip.
One makes a joke of it all, which caught me off guard, since this co-worker is normally quite serious.
I spend the rest of the morning moving meetings and answering messages.
The parking lot had slipped out of my head.
I answer back a parent who wishes to have the meeting at 3 PM tomorrow, a time she suggested.
The boss brings up the parking lot as he eats lunch from his desk.
“Didn’t they do it already?” I ask him.
“Yeah, but I guess they thought it would be best not to have the entire parking lot shut down.”
“Probably best.”
“Plus, there are spots in the back, so it should be fine.”
Three doesn’t work for her. She asks for another time.
I suggest five tomorrow.
I went to put a folder back, and a co-worker spoke to me as I walked back to my desk.
“They are redoing the parking lot.”
The chill co-worker told me.
(He never really gets too high or low about anything that happens here.)
“Yeah, I noticed.”
“They have been doing a lot recently.”
“Yeah, didn’t they just do the parking lot?”
“Yeah, that was only half of it, though.”
“Right…”
“I think they did the fences too, after the storm.”
“Damn, the parking lot twice, a new building, and the fences. Someone is working hard.”
I checked my messages.
Five doesn’t work tomorrow either.
Then the circus showed.
“I can’t! I can’t!
That parking lot is out of control!
I couldn’t even park!”
The oldest co-worker said as soon as she came in, accidentally knocking down the sign-in sheet by the front desk.
Oh, sorry about that! I am just…. It is so frustrating. I had to take the stairs because I couldn’t get to the elevator because of the parking lot now. I don’t know how I am going to get to my car now!
“This is nonsense!
They should do this at night!
Why do they have to do this during the day!”
The funny co-worker said as others agreed, turning an observation into a speech on the state of building projects.
What is stopping them from doing this at night? Huh? Can you tell me that? They have the equipment for it. They know that the parking lot will be very busy during the day. What is stopping them from doing it at night?
“It is just a hassle…
There are no parking spots.
No places to park.”
The hardest-working co-worker commented to me, in an exhausted tone.
Some sense to it would be nice. Finding a spot is so much harder now than it normally is, and normally it is bad enough. I had to drive around ten extra minutes to find a spot, and that spot is so far it might as well be in the other parking lot. It is just…. It is a lot.
“I think they are making the building into a food place.
I am not sure. It could be one of those new types of food places.”
The chill co-worker said to me, in the same monotone voice he always has.
For an English major, he knows nothing about inflection.
“I don’t know. I can’t complain that they never fill the potholes, and when they do, also complain.” I said.
I think of a 21 Pilots song that had lines about the lack of responsibility the government has to fill holes with more cement.
I haven’t heard the song since college, so I forgot the actual lyrics.
A random song I heard on the radio where the singer speaks of potholes is the most I know about construction.
“It is out of control!”
I heard the old co-worker talking to others in another room, louder than when she arrived.
“There are no places to park!”
A familiar voice stated to me.
“They should be doing it at night!”
A voice from another room hollered.
I let the Pilots be and headed back to my desk.
I called two other co-workers who had not given their opinion.
“How about that parking lot? Didn’t they just do it?”
They shrugged their shoulders, not in the mood to elaborate.
I checked my messages.
It turns out that 3 tomorrow is fine for the parent.
I was the last to leave the office that night.
After the complaining co-workers,
After the parking lot workers.
I walked outside the emergency tape, most of which was on the ground, on the new wet grass towards my car.
I looked at the building in the distance, seeing nothing more than a framework.
“I wonder what they are making that building.”
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