By Tom Netherland

Groan.

Cars inch along, their pilots’ necks crane and yet still no payday. Crunched together, the soot-suited mechanical monsters dance between buildings and around blocks, dodge hump-backed old ladies and screech and moan.

Yet no parking spot to be found. UGHH!

To paraphrase Samuel Taylor Coleridge:

Ah, Capitol Hill parking. The place must have been designed by either a pro-public transportation sort or a raving idiot. Unless you are unlucky enough to have been elected to serve in the Legislature, very little space was allotted in which to park cars.

Lord help those who drive behemoth SUVs.

And it’s 8 a.m. and you’re about to be late for a crucial committee meeting. You tense, drive too fast and nearly plant your Goodyears smack dab across some grandma’s back.

Not good.

But let’s say lady luck taps you on the shoulder and says, "Hey, buddy, it’s your lucky day. Here’s a spot for you." Well, it’ll be a lucky day all right – that is, unless Mother Nature opens her clouds and lets pour the rain.

That means a two-block walk, minimum, in the rain. Wet dogs are not allowed in the Legislature, and I suspect wet humans are frowned upon, too.

But wait, Richmond employs a company to keep vigilant watch over its parking meters. So you dig into your pockets, wet and feeling wetter, and fling a few Washingtons into the meter’s slot.

That’ll take care of the next two hours, tops. Great. But what if some long-winded legislator takes to the floor? Surely, the meter cops won’t ticket your car. Surely they’ll sidle right on by and give you a break.

Think again.

So, three hours of a windbag later, you sop and slosh your way back to your car only to find a green-enveloped ticket flapping beneath the windshield wipers.

Dang.

And as you ease back into the maze of cars, along comes another smiling sad sack who fills the void you left behind.

If only he knew.

Just another day at the Legislature.