Lutherans hate volleyball

It said, “Public Parking.” The complex was next to an old Lutheran church in downtown Minneapolis; 100 feet from the front door of the convention center. We were here for a volleyball tournament and my parents drove 8 hours from Chicago just to see their granddaughter play. A long walk from a distant parking space would be hard on my mom.

Now this was the first time I’d ever been in Minneapolis, and I could be totally wrong, but I think Lutherans are kind of like the Shiite majority in Baghdad; powerful, possessive, and not to be trifled with.

It was Sunday morning and we showed up at the parking garage like we had the two previous days, but this time there was a sign informing us in no uncertain terms that parking was reserved for “church members only.” I could feel the anger welling up inside me when my dad (80 years old, and ever the gentleman, but definitely no Lutheran) turned away and began to look for other places to park; places that would be farther from the door of the convention center.

I could stand it no longer when, rounding the corner of the parking complex that was reserved on Sunday’s for “church members,” I saw an acre of parking completely empty. But it was Sunday morning and this was Minneapolis, Minnesota, so the parking lot stood empty waiting for Lutherans. The backsliders never came. The lot stood mostly empty all morning and I spewed; “this is ridiculous! This is everything I find so annoying about the established church!” I think I used the word "asinine" too. It wasn’t the word I wanted to use, but mom was in the back seat.

Through sheer force of will, I persuaded my dad to pull into the garage. Mom was either nervous, or disappointed in my hostile attitude and said nothing. Dad asked if I had some credentials I could show in case they wanted to give me a ticket. I said, “yeah, I got your credentials…right here!” In my head I fantasized about a heated confrontation with a large-boned, elderly Norwegian woman about my right to use a parking space abandoned by an apostate Lutheran. No old lady, Norwegian or otherwise, ever showed up but I won the argument anyway. We walked past the Lutheran church, went inside the convention center and watched volleyball.

It occurs to me that self-righteous indignation is kind of like flatulence; it feels good to the one expelling it, but to everyone else around, it just smells like...well, you know. Eventually I apologized to mom for my "venting." And I apologize to the Lutheran whose parking space we stole.

It was a good Sunday anyway in spite of my emotional gas.