This week, Standard Parking, Harrisburg’s new parking operators, announced the creation of four distinct districts to help drivers keep track of the city’s new rates and hours. The system relies on multi-space meters whose brand, LUKE II, shares its name with the Biblical chapter about the birth of Jesus. At first, we thought it was just a coincidence. But then we found this dusty old scroll…
Luke 2: The Birth of the Parking Districts
And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Standard Parking, that all the parking spaces in Harrisburg should be divided into districts.
And all the Harrisburg drivers went to park their cars, every one into his own district.
Some of them went into the Central Business District, stretching between Chestnut and Forster, and between Front Street to the west and North 7th Street to the east.
And the ones who drove into this district were either great with hunger, for there were ranged along this district many a maker of food, or great with anger, for they worked for the state and yet, somehow, did not qualify for a space in one of the garages.
Parking in this district was $3 per hour. And lo, the color-coding of this district on the maps was lime.
Other parkers drove to the north and south, into the border districts. One such district was to be called Old Midtown, extending to Verbeke in the north and N. 2nd to the west.
And the parking in this district was to be mainly in front of homes and apartment towers, and the fee was to be $1.50 per hour. And the reason for the fee was to capture those parkers who sought to avoid paying fees in the other district, whom the decree did not exactly call “cheapskates” or “freeloaders,” although it sort of said it without saying it.
And lo, the color-coding of this district on the maps was salmon.
The other border district was to be called “South of the Central Business District,” and the hourly fee in this district was also $1.50. And the drivers who parked in this district looked upon its name and said unto themselves, “Yea, and by this logic, shall we now also christen our Commonwealth ‘West of New Jersey’?”
And lo, the color-coding of this district was up for debate. Some said it was aqua, and others said it was cyan, and still others said it was glaucous. And while they were debating, an angel came before them, saying:
“Why do ye doubt the color scheme of Standard Parking? Ye shall call it steel blue!”
And the parkers called it steel blue, and were sore afraid.
And the final district was almost no district at all. It was a narrow stretch along North 3rd Street, extending from the Midtown Scholar Bookstore to Harris Street.
And some of the places along this district were cafes and boutique stores, but many of the places were vacant buildings and empty fields, except towards Harris Street, where there was a church and an apartment building for the elderly.
And the fee for the privilege of parking in these places was to be $1.50 as well, but the first 15 minutes of the parking was to be free.
And the elderly folk looked at one another and said, “Let us get out of this district, and go somewhere our grandchildren can visit us for free!” But they could not, because the apartment bus service came once in the morning and once in the evening, and it was only 1 p.m.
And the name of this district was “New Midtown,” and the boundary this district shared with Olde Uptown was the source of much consternation. Some said it should be called “Olde Middleupton,” while others said the parts should cancel each other out, and it should simply be called “Town.”
And lo, the color-coding of this district was lavender.
And it came to pass that a reporter with questions about these districts referred to a portion at the bottom of the decree, which directed him to a “media contact” named Chris Sherman, Senior Vice President of Standard Parking.
And the reporter called the number provided for Mr. Sherman, and it took him to a central switchboard, which put him on hold.
And while he was on hold, the reporter heard a heavenly choir, and the music from the choir was upbeat, in an inoffensive, sanitized sort of way.
And after some minutes, the music ended, and a woman named Alicia answered, in Tennessee. And Mr. Sherman was unknown to this woman, who said she was to direct all media inquiries to another number, which was based in Chicago.
And the man in Chicago was out of the office until Dec. 10, according to his voicemail. And the reporter emailed Mr. Sherman instead, in the hopes of asking, “Why hast thou dealt thus with us?”
And lo, upon the close of business Friday, the email had not been answered.
