I stopped by the public library on East Main last Tuesday to return a book on local irrigation history. I was surprised to find a young man in a crisp vest standing near the entrance, holding a sign that suggested he was ready to park my sedan for me.

I asked the gentleman if there was a fire or perhaps a flash flood I hadn’t heard about on the radio. He just smiled and told me it was a “complimentary luxury service” for the new mixed-use development currently hovering over the parking lot. It seems we now have valet parking for the condos, which happens to occupy the same square footage where I used to park to read the newspaper in peace.

It is a curious thing, watching our town rearrange itself. We seem to be building quite a lot of places for people to sleep, yet we are running out of places for the rest of us to actually go. I told the young man that I preferred to park my own vehicle, as I know exactly where the dings came from and I’m quite attached to the way the driver’s side door sticks in the cold.

He moved the velvet rope just enough for me to squeeze through, though I suspect he thought I was a bit of a relic. It does make one wonder about the character of a city that values the convenience of a valet over the simple dignity of finding your own spot. If we keep upgrading the experience of arriving, I fear we will eventually have no place left to stay.

I parked three blocks away and walked back, enjoying the quiet.

Phyllis Grainbelt has lived in the Gallatin Valley her entire life and remembers when the Co-op was just a co-op. She does not elaborate on what this means.