Elise Richer, Urban Institute

Elise Richer plays center halfback for the Flanders Football Club and does social policy research for the Urban Institute in Washington, D.C.

This morning, as I wheeled my bicycle out of the laundry room of my apartment building, I noticed something was wrong. The gel cover I had bought to soften the seat (clearly designed by someone with far fewer nerve endings in their bottom than I) was gone. Petty theft of this type is one of the aggravations in my neighborhood. A few months ago, my building was broken into and six apartments were burglarized. Last month, my car window was smashed and an attempt (vain, as it happened) was made to liberate the radio. (My car door now sounds like a kaleidoscope when slammed, as the permanently stuck bits of glass tumble about in the door frame.) This weekend, a co-worker was mugged for eight dollars on his way over to visit his girlfriend. That mugging did not occur in the area I consider my neighborhood, but it was near enough to make me wary.

Despite these annoyances, most of which were pretty disturbing the day they actually happened, the most irritating aspect of my neighborhood is by far the parking situation. Yesterday I discovered that I will be forwarding 20 more dollars to the D.C. Treasury, for no other reason than I could not get up early enough to move my car from its illegal spot chosen the night before. There really is no way to avoid this. I never intended to embark on a life of criminal mischief, but finding a legal spot in the evening around my apartment is like finding forgotten change in your pants pocket -- it will happen now and again, but you'd best not count on it.

I think I've paid about $200 in parking fines in the 10 months I've lived in my building. Add in the car repairs necessary when Blue Lightening (thus dubbed, either fondly or derisively, by Mary the snake lover) refused to start for a month, registration, insurance, and gas, and I'm left wondering why I even own a car in the first place. After all, one of the benefits of urban living is supposed to be that you don't have to drive everywhere, or even anywhere, particularly in a city like Washington that has a decent subway system.

Blue is the first car I've ever owned, and I should note that I didn't even have the hassle of buying it -- my father had the privilege of spotting the ad in the paper and picking Blue up at a good price. I had always prided myself on not owning a car, and believed not driving was the biggest environmental contribution one could make in the modern world. I still try not to use the car too regularly but more for special outings. In the time I've had it here in D.C., I've probably put no more than three or four thousand miles on the vehicle. Work, boyfriend, soccer practice, and grocery stores are all accessible by foot, bike, or public transportation. In addition, the thought of the search for parking at the end of any evening often prompts me to avoid taking Blue out even when it might be the most convenient option. Furthermore, I am not one of those people who likes driving, especially in the gridlock that passes for a traffic pattern in the D.C. metro area. So really, why do I have this thing?

It's hard to find an answer. At a certain point I got tired of relying on other people for rides. Yes, I didn't own a car and thus felt environmentally righteous, but I had friends who had to be roped into driving me to airports and train stations, grocery stores and movie theaters. Without Blue, I would be begging for rides to soccer games and large stores, since the city core of D.C. lacks the necessary facilities.

Essentially, I'm one of those people who would be decisively swayed by a social policy couched in economic terms. If gas were to cost me what it costs in, say, Italy, I would probably just give the car up and settle in for more taxi rides and less travel to the suburbs.