“Is this your car???” read a DM from my friend, referring to an Instagram story, showing my red 2004 Mini Cooper parked behind Currier Quad with eight tickets under the windshield wiper. The caption: “oof.” Yes, it was my car. I had forgotten that I had left it there overnight and then overnight again for six more nights. The Ticket Appeals Committee and I agreed that, really, one mistake like this should only equal one ticket. Unfortunately for me, it was still the last ticket of ten. I had to find a permanent place to put my car.
I couldn’t appeal any more tickets. I couldn’t take it home — home for me is Colorado. Previous tickets were the results of similarly dumb mistakes, like trying to push-start the car when the battery died and rolling it into a ditch (the ticket just said “This isn’t a spot,” which felt as cruel as it was obvious).
I followed the CSS officer’s appropriately conciliatory suggestions of reaching out to a few places about paying for a spot for the remainder of the semester. At best, the responses expressed confusion, and, at worst, demanded $80 per week. I knew that the same friend who DMed me had faced problems with parking her car, so I asked her where she eventually found a place to park. She suggested that I park in what is commonly known on campus as the “dirt lot,” located off Water Street. I was confused because I was already parking at the old Williams Inn lot, which is also a patch of dirt. I took my car to the dirt patch to which she directed me. I was in awe. How had I never heard of this place? A massive lot infinitely closer to Fitch House, where I lived, than my old spot. People parked there freely and gladly, no parking stickers or tickets to be seen. I could forget my car there for weeks, and nothing would happen.
The closure of the dirt lot came as a blow. When I heard that the dirt lot was being shut down, I felt a loss on behalf of the similarly irresponsible. I know racking up 10 tickets isn’t a common enough occurrence to summon general outrage at the loss of this place. I was fortunate enough to be able to pay back the cost of the tickets over time, an look back on my record as somewhat of an ironic achievement rather than the source of my financial ruin. But the dirt lot was important to more than just the idiots like me. My friend had to park there because she needed reliable transportation to her job, and only got her car halfway through the semester, which meant that CSS wouldn’t offer her a place to park. For many, parking is a necessity, not a privilege. This is especially true for those with off-campus responsibilities — ski patrollers need to drive themselves to Jiminy Peak. I needed my car in order to go to dog sitting gigs in North Adams — my way of supporting myself (and eventually paying off those tickets).
Parking seems to be a limited resource on this campus. Why? I have literally no idea. None of us know. But, nonetheless we suffer the consequences. The dirt lot was consistently full. This means that there were a considerable number of people who either, like me, created their own problems, or were denied a spot in the first place. An injustice occurs when a resource that should be considered a right is limited and delegated to only a select few. The dirt lot corrected this injustice. As I graduate, I’m grateful to leave my parking troubles behind. That, and the fact that I gave the Mini Cooper to my mother because she needed a car, martyring myself so that I would never again wake up in a cold sweat with images of neon green slips swimming behind my eyes, forgetting the fact that senior year without a car in Williamstown is a fate worse than death.
Look, I get it. CSS has a hard job. They were kind to me when I appealed my tickets over and over again and were remorseful when they finally had to kick my car off campus. Without the dirt lot, though, I don’t know what I would have done. But, don’t find a solution for the irresponsible folks like me — find one for the surplus of individuals who need a parking spot and are denied one for no good reason other than limited availability. To the College’s administration and to those who decided to close the dear dirt lot, I entreat you: Honor her memory. Make parking free and accessible to all who need it.
Mati Rogers is an English and theatre major from Aurora, Colo.