This morning, I successfully excavated my car from the snow in about 35 minutes. I drove out of the spot practically on the first try. Boy did I ever feel good about that.

This is only my second winter in Montreal, and the first that I’ve had to drive a car. Winters take on a whole different meaning when you drive. How do you find a spot for your car on the street in the midst of a) parking restrictions everywhere on account of Montreal’s insanely efficient snowplough fleet and b) the physical obstacle of the snow itself?

Whilst removing the snow from my car, I noticed that somebody else had accidentally bumped into my neighbour’s Toyota Yaris and dislodged what passes for a fender. Hmm. An awkward social moment. I informed the driver of the car that the Yaris he’d just bashed up was my neighbour’s. I knew he felt bad. No question of hitting or running. Once the driver knew what number to buzz, he buzzed it, and Marie-Eve stepped out and received the bad news about the Yaris with a graven face.

Eight hours later, when I drove myself and three Montreal veterans from the NFB down to de Castelnau metro station. I wanted to park in the area because it’s right by my gym. Amazingly, I found a parking spot right away. It was the finest parking spot in all of Montreal. In snow this heavy, cars sit in their spaces as if in little pods. And this freshly-excavated pod was an elegant construction indeed – smooth walls on either side, ample clearance room – even a small path was dug through the snow to the pavement.

Upon the advice of the Montreal veterans, I took that spot. But I felt uneasy about it. Who “owned” this parking spot? Perhaps someone living in that elegant walk-up right there? No matter. I bid the Montreal veterans farewell and went on my merry way to shed some sweat at Kardiologik. I thought to myself, “I won’t be long, and then an actual resident of this street can have their parking spot back.”

In the gym, I thought more about the matter. I knew my own street would have parking restrictions on it for the entire night. Parking on rue Berri is seldom easy, and after a snowfall, it’s chacun pour soi, as they say. Why not just leave my car exactly where it was – the finest parking spot in all of Montreal?

I exited the gym. I crept up stealthily to my car, which was sitting majestically in its snow-throne. I noticed an old woman on the balcony of the walk-up apartment building above me. She was pacing up and down, looking at the very spot I had stolen! She even looked at me – and she seemed mighty suspicious, I swear. I walked on, trying to feign nonchalance. Moments later, I turned the corner and glanced back. The old woman was still looking at me!

I’m almost positive that I stole her spot. Or her husband’s spot. Yikes! But then I thought to myself, look, this is the game. I could have possibly driven around for half an hour or more looking for another space closer to home.

When I returned to my own street, I noticed that the very same parking space that I had cleared that very morning was taken by none other than my neighbour’s damaged Yaris.

In my defence, my hunch about parking on my own street was correct. Not a single parking spot remained at approximately seven o’clock this evening.