I’m not very good at parking. I have written here before about my driving my friend Auriol‘s car through a Genome Campus fence. Today I discovered why everyone avoids the cornermost parking space of the Campus’s underground car park when, moving into it, I managed to shuffle back and forth enough times to wedge my vehicle between a concrete pillar and a concrete wall. I couldn’t reverse without ripping off my passenger door mirror; I couldn’t advance without scraping the paint off the side of my car. One of my colleagues, Brian, and I had to lift the back end of my little hatchback and rotate it so I could drive out of the slot. Some people reading this might be reminded of the running joke in this book.