I don't parallel park. There is something amiss in the spatial relationship department of my brain. My worst fear would be having to parallel park a pick-up truck rigged up with a boat trailer along a public street. In fact, just writing it down strikes fear in my heart. I do remember my Driver's Ed. instructor giving us very specific directions and tips on how to effectively park in a parallel fashion. During this very crucial time of instruction, I also remember becoming tremendously distracted by the new Dairy Queen that was being erected directly across from my high school. Would I be able to dart across the four lane highway, order up a Butterfinger Blizzard, slurp it down, and run back to the school in the twenty-four minutes of allotted lunch time? I became lost in my thoughts. This is the only time I can recall where ice cream was a detriment.
Not so long ago, after shifting into PARK, I actually jumped out of the driver's seat of the momvan, scurried over to the curb, and waited for my sister to leave her back seat position and take over my parking responsibilities. I didn't think this was a bad idea until I realized I hadn't communicated that thought to my sister. She was still seated looking out at me from inside the van, wondering where I was going. This is what I'm telling you: I don't perform this task under any circumstances. I've been known to park twelve blocks away from my favorite spice store in the dead of a Minnesota winter just to avoid the dreaded deed. If I can't slide up and just drive in, it's not happening.
I don't know if it's because I'm left-handed... but it seems like a decent explanation.