urban legends
Really, there's no lack of story material. It's all around us, in the newspaper and on the television and the conversations you overhear on the subway or waiting for your dry cleaning. I'm constantly amazed by the stuff I come across that's true, but we are a talkative species and we're not satisfied with the truth: we've got to tell stories, and we'll take any material we can find. Thus the urban legend, or urban myth. I usually get the sense that there's some shred of truth in these stories, but it's so long ago and far away that there's no way to track it down. Mostly urban myths are apocryphal, so that maybe the best way to think of them is a modern day equivalent of gospel stories, being generated among us to pass along society's rules and fears.
There's one tale that I'm fairly sure is an urban legend, but have never been able to track down on any of the websites dedicated to recording and documenting these stories. I was reminded of it because some wag in Chicago decided to use ebay to sell 'authentic Chicago parking place holders'. Here's one of the photos they included as a sample of their wares.
Where I grew up in Chicago most people lived in apartments or two flats and at least fifty percent of them had no garage or off street parking. You parked on the street. In the winter, when the snow drfits were three feet high, you still parked on the street, but first you had to dig out your space. Which was not pleasant work. Chicago can easily see winter temperatures below zero for days at a time, when the snow accumulation freezes solid and the wind cuts through clothes with all the nonchalance of a hog rooting through swill. So you dig out your parking place, the one right in front of your building or near by, and then it's yours. You dug it out. It's yours by social agreement and neighborhood concensus.
Of course, you may need your car, and so you drive away from your carefully and painfully won parking spot, and then what do you do? When I was a kid, you got a kitchen chair, usually the chrome ones with padded seats, which now are fashionable again and cost a fortune. Now, according to the images on ebay, you get the cheapest plastic lawn chair you can find. You get two of them and put them out in your parking spot, one at each end to indicate the length of your car. That way other people (1) know you had dug out the space and were holding it; (2) can't cheat and pretend they don't know, because those are your kitchen chairs, and sacrosanct. My guess would be that things are a little more flexible now that we're talking cheap plastic chairs.
So here's the story I'm sure is an urban myth.
First really big snow storm comes and goes, and so Joe, who has been doing this for thirty years now, goes and digs out his space, right in front of his two flat. His car is sitting near by, double parked, motor running (standard operating procedure.) When he's done he goes to get the kitchen chairs which are sitting on his porch, waiting, and while his back is turned, a guy new to the neighborhood (and new to Chicago, clearly) neatly pulls his big old chevy into the newly dug out space.If somebody can track down documentation on this particular urban legend, please do let me know.A Chicago style argument ensues. Lots of yelling and waving of arms and thrusting of fingers. The new guy (call him Sam) won't budge. The whole neighborhood comes out and gets into it, but Sam is dumb, he won't back down, won't give in, and thus Joe has to go dig out another spot. Which he does. Ominously quiet as he works. Thinking.
Late that night, when it's really, really cold, Joe goes down to his basement and gets out the long garden hose. Hooks it up to the laundry sink in the basement and runs the hot water. Opens the basement window and feeds out the hose, and then he goes outside and spends a happy hour with the hose and the chevy.
In the morning Sam finds his car sitting inside a giant ice cube. The water froze almost as soon as it hit the car, and Joe spent some time making sure it built up nicely all over.
Sam didn't have the use of his car until the April thaw, is how the story goes. Of course, Joe didn't have his parking space, either, but he did get a great laugh every time he looked out his window at the icepop chevy.
Now, how is this relevant to writing? This is the kind of backstory or minor subplot that can really bring a novel some texture and heart. Some day I may use it. Or maybe you will.