A L S O_ T O D A Y

Comics
Dark Hotel: Virginia lands Bill lock, stock and barrel; talking to Burroughs' cronies; Justine Shade finally answers

T A B L E_ T A L K

Is employment incompatible with education? Share your thoughts on working your way through school in Table Talk's Education area

R E C E N T L Y

Geometry and hot pix
By Chris Colin
Returning home from college, a young man is caught between his troubled younger brother and X-rated Web sites
(10/14/98)

Financial roulette with Sallie Mae
By Kristina Blachere
Make no mistake, the corporate mistress of student loans will get you in the end, but in the meantime you can play her at her own game and sometimes win
(10/12/98)

Creeps on campus
By Dawn MacKeen
Do bad guys have a right to higher education?
(10/09/98)

My crabs or yours?
By Dan Stern
Protecting yourself from the creatures of the sexual swamp
(10/07/98)

Ask Camille
By Camille Paglia
Trouncing feminist film criticism and its cadre of ass-kissing puritans
(10/07/98)

BROWSE THE
IVORY TOWER
ARCHIVE

S A L O N
E M P O R I U M
FREE! 12-ounce bag of Salon Blend with a purchase of $30 or more. While supplies last.

SURVIVAL OF THE EARLIEST | PAGE 1, 2
- - - - - - - - - -

The first tactic both of us employed was the stakeout. Most classes end 10 minutes before the hour, so at exactly 2:50, we'd position our cars next to the staircase from which departing students would emerge, then follow them to their cars. This worked well for a few days, but trouble began when other cars caught on and followed suit. So Ruth and I began waiting in specific sections of the garage instead of near the staircase. Like cats peeing on their territory, we'd block both lanes so that no one could get by; but it didn't take long for the other cars to catch on to this strategy as well, so when we'd arrive at 2:50, our respective territories would already be occupied. Now Ruth and I were vying for the same spots. It was time to move on to Plan B.

I regrouped over a weekend, and on Monday, I pulled in at 2:45, ambushing Ruth when she arrived at 2:50. Ruth shot back on Tuesday, her Beemer already sprawled out in my section at 2:44. On Wednesday, I got there at 2:40 and took over Ruth's favorite stakeout, Section 3F. We kept trying to one-up each other until Friday, when a black Pathfinder parked crookedly in a "compact only" space so that the one next to it was unusable. Then the Pathfinder's friend, a blue Jetta, showed up, and the Pathfinder parked evenly between the lines, allowing the Jetta to pull into the now viable adjoining space. Alliances like this began cropping up quickly, but Ruth and I were too proud to team up. We couldn't imagine fraternizing with the enemy.

The final showdown came on Monday. I pulled into the garage at 2:30, but when Ruth's Beemer wasn't camped out in 3F, I searched the other levels, then the outside lot, and finally found the red monstrosity double-parked on the street with its hazard lights flashing. Ruth was on the sidewalk, soliciting students with, "Hi, I'll give you five bucks if you'll let me drive you to your car, five bucks, anyone?" Students swarmed her, like beggars in a third-world country waiting outside the airport for wealthy Americans. I couldn't let her get away with this. I swerved around, zoomed back into the garage and drove up the ramps the wrong direction in an attempt to beat Ruth to the punch. It was a kamikaze mission: I was willing to risk my life for honor alone.

As Ruth and her passenger arrived at the girl's car, I tried to get between them, but someone beat me to it. It was a white Geo, tiny enough to squeeze by me. Just as the girl pulled out, three guys jumped out of the Geo, blocking Ruth and guiding the Geo driver into the pilfered space. Then I saw it happening all around me: Little armies of people were jumping out of cars, acting as human shields, helping their friends steal spaces. Fights broke out and death threats were made. I felt like I was trapped in "Lord of the Flies": The administration left us in this isolated parking garage, and our dark sides had emerged.

After that, Ruth's not getting the space felt like a Pyrrhic victory. I decided to drop out of the parking wars, and I guess Ruth did too. The next day, I pulled into the lot at 2:55, expecting to circle around for at least 20 minutes. But up on level 3, I saw Ruth's parked Beemer, and in the space next to it sat Ruth in a portable chair, reading a book. When my car approached, she folded her chair, held up two fingers in the universal peace sign and signaled me into the saved space. "Bitch!" someone yelled before screeching around the corner. I got out of the car and faced the enemy. "I really hated you," I admitted. "I hated you more," Ruth smiled. Dodging cars, we headed for the stairs. A guy with a Mohawk rolled down his window and yelled, "You can't save spaces like that! You *!*&%!" Then he gave us the finger and sped away. His bumper sticker read, "Use words, not violence."
SALON | Oct. 16, 1998

Lori Gottlieb is a pre-med student and freelance writer living in Los Angeles.