I suffer from a little known, debilitating condition—‘PPA,’ parallel parking anxiety. Randy, my instructor from New Canaan’s Lewis School of Driving, diagnosed the affliction in 1990. To this day, should a spot open up on Elm Street that requires parallel parking, I white-knuckle the steering wheel and give myself a pep talk. I will never effortlessly glide into a parallel spot—especially when judgemental outdoor diners have front-row seats to my humiliation. If only I had a hologram-like Obi-Wan Kenobi version of Randy to calm me, I’d probably get past my parking issues.