I may have set a snow shoveling record last week—at least I feel like I did. My arms are still sore and hands blistered, but I haven’t received nearly the fanfare I deserve. I guess hard work will have to be its own reward in this case.
I share this would be glory with another near record breaker. According to the National Weather Service, the 2011 “snowpocalypse” was the third largest storm to hit Chicago since record keeping began in 1886.
Perhaps the most enduring images of the recent storm were the hundreds of motorists marooned on Lake Shore Drive for up to 12 hours. One friend likened the pictures of vehicles stranded on this major thoroughfare to the well-preserved relics of Pompeii—where life was frozen in time by the merciless Mt. Vesuvius.
Traffic is mostly smooth now, but the heavy weather still presents problems for motorists. While an army of snowplows has effectively cleared most streets, the process further buries the cars parked on either side. Freeing the vehicles from this frozen shell can take a lot of muscle, and the better part of an afternoon.
Because of the work involved, many residents become very possessive of the parking spots they’ve excavated. This means that a winter storm is often followed by a street parade of random objects. While an out-of-towner might mistake this as a strangely unseasonable yard sale, the purpose of these items is to prevent the competition (other people’s cars) from nabbing the space the shoveler struggled so hard to forge.
The winter space-marking tactic isn’t legal (a city ordinance specifically forbids it), but a glance at my neighborhood still reveals a colorful array of territory-marking items. Chairs seem to be the preferred space-keeper—from cheap plastic throwaways to a recently sighted (and beautifully upholstered) vintage red wingback—however, other examples include orange traffic cones, milk crates, cat litter containers, bridges made from buckets and boards, saw horses, and other miscellaneous debris that local drivers have come to understand as a “keep out or else” sign.
In the event that someone can’t read this assemblage, written accounts may also accompany the space saving objects. Some of these pleas can be detailed, while others offer a more concise argument. Last night I saw a paint-peeled ladder back chair that was simply labeled “PREGNANT.” While it’s certainly a compelling case, I imagine for the uninitiated it might seem quite surreal.
For motorists who park in these peculiarly marked public spaces, the consequences can be brutal. Lucky ones may merely receive an angry note taped to the windshield (a wintry mix of veiled threats and insincere pleasantries), while the unfortunate may find doors keyed, tires punctured, windows smashed or other damage as retaliation.
I share this would be glory with another near record breaker. According to the National Weather Service, the 2011 “snowpocalypse” was the third largest storm to hit Chicago since record keeping began in 1886.
Perhaps the most enduring images of the recent storm were the hundreds of motorists marooned on Lake Shore Drive for up to 12 hours. One friend likened the pictures of vehicles stranded on this major thoroughfare to the well-preserved relics of Pompeii—where life was frozen in time by the merciless Mt. Vesuvius.
Traffic is mostly smooth now, but the heavy weather still presents problems for motorists. While an army of snowplows has effectively cleared most streets, the process further buries the cars parked on either side. Freeing the vehicles from this frozen shell can take a lot of muscle, and the better part of an afternoon.
Because of the work involved, many residents become very possessive of the parking spots they’ve excavated. This means that a winter storm is often followed by a street parade of random objects. While an out-of-towner might mistake this as a strangely unseasonable yard sale, the purpose of these items is to prevent the competition (other people’s cars) from nabbing the space the shoveler struggled so hard to forge.
The winter space-marking tactic isn’t legal (a city ordinance specifically forbids it), but a glance at my neighborhood still reveals a colorful array of territory-marking items. Chairs seem to be the preferred space-keeper—from cheap plastic throwaways to a recently sighted (and beautifully upholstered) vintage red wingback—however, other examples include orange traffic cones, milk crates, cat litter containers, bridges made from buckets and boards, saw horses, and other miscellaneous debris that local drivers have come to understand as a “keep out or else” sign.
In the event that someone can’t read this assemblage, written accounts may also accompany the space saving objects. Some of these pleas can be detailed, while others offer a more concise argument. Last night I saw a paint-peeled ladder back chair that was simply labeled “PREGNANT.” While it’s certainly a compelling case, I imagine for the uninitiated it might seem quite surreal.
For motorists who park in these peculiarly marked public spaces, the consequences can be brutal. Lucky ones may merely receive an angry note taped to the windshield (a wintry mix of veiled threats and insincere pleasantries), while the unfortunate may find doors keyed, tires punctured, windows smashed or other damage as retaliation.
Like most major metropolitan areas, parking in this city is already limited, so this space-claiming phenomenon adds a cold insult to injury. Otherwise available spots remain vacant for hours because motorists who could use them don’t know when the person who dug it might return and inflict revenge. A street that could offer several hours of ample parking becomes a useless outdoor flea market.
One might think that the law against laying claim to parking spots with lawn furniture would discourage this practice, but the decades-long tradition remains largely unenforced. Elected officials, fearing that they may upset a large portion of the voting public, often turn a blind eye.
One might think that the law against laying claim to parking spots with lawn furniture would discourage this practice, but the decades-long tradition remains largely unenforced. Elected officials, fearing that they may upset a large portion of the voting public, often turn a blind eye.
Chair-Free Chicago
One solution that I appreciate comes from long time resident Kevin Lynch, who last year began a diplomatic effort against this custom with “Chair Free Chicago.” His website offers printable flyers and posters with a clear but tactful message: “Let’s stop marking spots with junk.”
“Let’s start acting like neighbors and stop worrying about who shoveled what. Let’s declare this a Chair-Free Zone. We’ll do our best not to take your spot, but if someone has to, know they really appreciate your effort in making this spot possible,” reads one available flyer.
While I can understand the desire to “call dibs” on the spot you worked so hard to create, destroying someone’s personal property because they invaded your self-declared portion of public space is not only juvenile, it’s criminal.
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