Over the years I have developed an intense dislike for parking my car in the concrete death traps known as parking garages. I have been unable to locate the exact word for this fear, so I have coined the term stathmefsigkarazophobia to give it a name.
Phobias, however, are typically defined as irrational fears, so I am going to argue that my intense anxiety over parking garages may not be a true phobia. These buildings are rife with danger, as they tend to be filled with clueless simpletons who back out of their spaces without looking, as well as irresponsible maniacs who roar through the narrow traffic lanes with reckless exuberance.
And this sets aside the peripheral issue of criminal thugs who use parking garages as hunting grounds for autos, purses, wedding bands, and human victims of random violence.
Most recently I visited the perilous structure known as the Toledo Hospital parking garage. I cannot recall a recent drive more worthy of the term "white-knuckled" than this; on no fewer than six occasions did I encounter fellow motorists who seemed determined to wreak damage upon my vehicle and person. After my hospital visit was over, I began to debate the merits of waiting until after business hours to drive out of this treacherous edifice.
As I returned to my vehicle, which was strategically parked on the roof to avoid initial intra-auto collisions, I noticed that the owner of a Chevrolet Kodiak - perhaps the largest of large trucks - parked next to me. Not in any of the three spaces on either side of me, but right next to my passenger door. As I started to back out, sure enough a clown in a Mustang whizzed by at near-warp speed.
After navigating the four decks of looming annhilation, I made it back to daylight unscathed, but determined that henceforth I will avoid parking garages like I would bleeding Ebola patients.