Parking lots and powder rooms

A two-hour minimum. That’s what the parking meter said. And that minimum would cost nine bucks. Seemed like a lot, and a long time, for the errand I had. But downtown parking is an exercise in patience, and this lot was the first I had seen that had vacancies.

I wouldn’t need two hours, I thought. But, it was my only option.

I’d find out almost two hours later that the parking meter knew more about the time I needed than I did. Because, it was right. It didn’t take two hours on the nose, but I did need at least 90 minutes to navigate a new security checkpoint, a new bank of elevators and a new counter of service windows.

Through no fault of my own I have now learned procedures and policies at five different courts. I know where the bathrooms are. I know that I have to leave my water bottle in the car. I know that certain courts let you carry your documents through the security scanner and others require them to ride inside a plastic tub along a conveyor, passing under the eyes of folks who have been hired to protect the building and inspect anything coming through the door.

I know where and how victims provide statements. I know how the room smells in one court. How it feels, and it feels small and exposed, even though several people can fit inside and it is tucked out of view from offenders. And I know how another feels in a different court — comforting and safe, a sanctuary used to gather my courage and squeeze in a few deep breaths.

I know how plea deals work, how probation is handled and how to request copies of police reports.

These are all things I’ve never wanted to know, but things that life brought to me. I’ve learned through living, along the way gaining a better understanding of the tools that are available. It just stinks that sometimes it takes living it to learn it. And in this case, it’s because the offenses I’ve lived through regularly break the mold, leaving experts and those with more life experience than me shaking their heads in disbelief.

I’ve also learned that those tools don’t work on their own. They need to be exercised and used and questioned and checked on. They require personal advocacy, which for many (including me) is a wildly, foreign and uncomfortable concept.

But if you learn patience, like I have in the most profound way through this life experience, you will be able to give it to the system and also, eventually, give it to yourself. For the system, don’t give it too much. But for you, embrace it.

It took a long time to get here. And 99 percent of this place is wonderful, better than I could have ever dreamed life could be. That one-percent, that minuscule fraction of life, that overpriced parking spot at the courthouse downtown, those leg-shaking nerves before another court appearance, that moment of PTSD from a life I left behind — it’s all only one percent.

And that one percent will stay that way. Parked, permanently. Never able to capture a bigger share of the lot.