The Clackamas print., September 29, 2014, Page 8, Image 8

T H E C L A C K A M A S P R IN T
|
SEPT. 29, 20 1 4
] B A C K TO S C H O O L IS S U E
^WhedSatujn.
£
Q
For round two, my
wimpy legs were
sore. I’m a journalist,
not a damn track
1. i North
id
Art Center)
MctougWin
"" m f f i !
B
It’s hot, for one. I’m suffering
from a sunburn, and I can
feel it throbbing through my black tanktop. My
scowl.
My mission is to find the farthest parking lot
space in each parking lot and time the walk from
the parking spot to the center of the campus: the
community center.
Why would I do this? People at Clackamas
Community College complain a lot about park­
ing. There is no curse in Elvish, Entish, or the
tongues of Men for this treachery.
Next stop: Mordor.
If you’re not familiar
with Mordor that
would be one of
the nastier parts of
Middle Earth from J.
R. R. Tolkien’s “Lord
of The Rings.” Or the
parking lot annex for
the Art Center and Niemeyer Center buildings.
Gravel and dead grass surround you, and a sense
that you won’t make it out alive sinks right into
your soul.
We swears, to serve the master of the precious
parking spot and help you, student.
This is probably the suckiest thing I’ve ever de­
cided to do for the paper, but on a cloudless 77
degree Saturday at 11:24 a.m., it could be worse.
I could be doing this in the rain. Or worse — the
snow. I hate snow.
I start the walk from the corner spot, past the
bus roundabout, and towards the community
center. I even go so much as to walk around
imaginary cars.
Getting stuck in Mordor, don’t expect to get
to class on time. Especially if you’re me, who
a) moves at a glacial pace, and b) is carrying a
textbook (I’m all for realistic reenactments. Go
with me here).
4:41 minutes and six swear words later, I finally
make it to the finish line. I’m hot, and the text­
book now weighs a whopping 30 lbs.I have a
theory behind textbook weight: the later you are
is multiplied by how far you have to walk, with a
sum gain of about a pound for every 30 seconds
of walking.
My last parking lot test is Barlow. I just call this
one Hell,
In the 3:21 minutes it took, I said four swear
words, glared at three birds, and nearly got hit
by an imaginary car twice.
v
Mordor
Name £sjjo
m
byEnnCarey
don t know why I volunteered
for this,” I mutter to myself as
I make the trek out to the far­
thest reaches of Roger Rook’s
parking lot.
Shying
S Reteiving
\<
HBHH
fitijM I
f i r —i
Campus Safety
MckougNin hMR
fg j] Bus Stop
S
|3
Parting
fjP i Jogging Trafi
CwtMTj
M«tS
D3libn,fY
The pavement is cracked, the last time the
parking lot lines were painted on was around the
same time that hammer pants were cool, and it’s
usually a plethora of obnoxiously large trucks
with stickers like “honk if you married your
sister like I did!”
If you’re screwed into parking at Barlow, just
throw in the towel.
I sent a text to my best friend telling her that if I
didn’t text back in 30 minutes, to send the Coast
Guard.
4:10 minutes, 10 swear words and five muttered
insults, I found myself at my finish line. No
crowd cheered me on, nor was there any sight of
salvation.
“That sucked,” I mumble to no one but myself,
with one hand on my hip. I have gained nothing
from this exercise, save for another hour of my
life cementing my hatred for CCC’s parking.