Deserae and I went to Hawaii a few weeks ago because it is zero degrees in Cleveland, which seems to be the optimal time to leave if you want to spark a jealous rage in your co-workers.

The trip was perfect. There were leaping whales and impossibly beautiful days and perfect, empty beaches and I can see that rage in your eye, so I’ll stop now. Instead, I’ll share an important lesson I learned from the worst place in Maui.

For me, the worst place in Maui is a town called Lahaina. Lahaina’s main feature is one long street where someone decided to pack in as many restaurants, souvenir shops and timeshare operators as possible. I call it the “Gatlinburg of the Pacific.”

Since Lahaina is one of the only places on the island open after 6 p.m., it gets crazy at night. (Not crazy like Bourbon street. More like a crazy number of retirees watching glass blowing.) Anyways, for someone like me whose favorite part of vacation is pretending that there are no other humans on the planet while snorkeling in the middle of the ocean, it is a nightmare.

If it were up to me, Deserae and I would not spend a single second of our vacation in Lahaina. Unfortunately, the town is home to Deserae’s favorite place in the world: Ululani’s Gourmet Hawaiian Shave Ice.

Hawaiian shave ice, if you are not familiar, is basically a snow cone with finely shaved ice and a lot of syrup. Like an OBSCENE amount of syrup. Like, imagine making a snow cone and the nozzle accidentally falls off when you’re pouring the syrup and the whole bottle chugs onto the ice and you decide to eat it anyway. If you make it through an entire blue raspberry, your face is blue for a day and – I apologize for being crude, but this is 100% true – your poo is green for a week.

Adults do not take you seriously when you look like this.

Since Deserae would drink a gallon of blue syrup a day if she could, we went to Lahaina every night for shave ice. The crowds, noise and prices were bad enough, but the thing that almost broke me was the free parking.

I am married to a woman who has built her life on three pillars: faith, family and the firm belief that one should never pay for parking when free parking is available. The worst part about Lahaina is that it has just a tiiiiiiiny bit of free parking. Not nearly enough to use, but just enough to create the world’s most stressful scavenger hunt.

On our first visit to Lahaina, Deserae tried to navigate us to the free lot, while I worked hard to not hit people.

“OK, not this street, but the next one,” she said while studying the book. “Wait, I think the next one is one way? We’re looking for Kahiyeeeyoo… OK, it’s a K with like 12 letters after it and it ends with…”

“Hey, this spot just opened up on the street!”

Deserae looked up. “Turn on your blinker! Turn on your blinker!”

“I don’t know, it looks kind of small…”

“YOU CAN DO IT!”

I sighed, because I already knew what would happen. I drove past the spot, just as I was taught in driving school. I cut the wheel, just as I was taught in driving school. I ran over the curb and nearly hit the car, just as I’ve done every single time I’ve tried to parallel park in my life. I spun the wheel all the way around, pulled back out and tried again. I ended up in the exact same spot. As traffic built up behind me, I furiously maneuvered back and forth, only to end up in the exact same spot each time. Deserae tried to help by giving me tips.

“Straighten it out! Left, left, left! No, not…”

We sat in silence as I turned the wheel back around and tried again.

“Can I just do it?”

“FINE!”

By this time, all of Lahaina was watching as Deserae jumped into the driver’s seat and I sulked over to the sidewalk. She pulled forward, judged the space, pulled up a little more, then slid perfectly back in the spot. She got out and tossed me the keys. The timeshare lady across the street started laughing and clapping.

The next morning, we had to go back to Lahaina for a scuba trip. We were running late, so I just pulled up to the harbor to sign in with the boat captain.

“Hey, do you know where I can park?”

Sure, the harbor lot right here has good all-day rates.”

I looked around. “Is there a free lot nearby?”

“Yeah, you just go to the end of this street, then turn left onto Dickenson, a quick right onto Prison street and then you’ll pass two more streets, and…”

I sighed, because I already knew what would happen.

I got back into the car and Deserae asked where the free parking lot was. “OK, we go down to the end of this street, then go right, left, right.”

“Right left right?”

“Wait, maybe left right left.”

“Which is it?”

Right left right. Definitely right left right.”

It was not right left right.

Any time someone gives me verbal directions longer than one turn, I become Dory from Finding Nemo. I try SO HARD to remember them, but while walking back to the car, I notice that the goofy hat some lady is wearing, then I remember the joke I was going to tell Deserae, then a song pops in my head. When I finally reach the car, I get the sinking feeling that I’ve yet again forgotten to remember directions.

Right left right took us to a paid lot where we argued about me asking someone for directions, which led to us driving in a circle, which led to me finally asking for directions, which led to me forgetting the directions again, which led to almost hitting someone on a bike, which led to a parking lot at the end of an alley that may or may not have been free, which led to a long, silent walk back to the harbor and thoughts of disconnecting each other’s scuba tubes underwater.

The rest of the week went just as poorly. We somehow found a free parking spot every time – the only cost was a few minutes of incredible stress followed by crabby comments, silence and then apologies. The last night, we pulled into a free spot, crunched over some broken glass from a fresh car break-in and walked to the green poo place.

“We did it!” Deserae said and smiled at me.

While smiling back, I wondered how much we saved by putting our marriage at risk to park free every day. Parking is like $8/hour in downtown Cleveland and everything in Hawaii is twice as expensive, so…

Oh.

At that moment, I looked up and got my answer.

$3. We did it.

LIFE LESSON #56

In life, as in Monopoly, free parking is not as great as it would first appear.