It's easy to get high-minded and poo-poo such drama because the problem seems so niche. If you don't live in San Francisco or, even if you do but are presently day tripping in some suburban neighborhood, where parking spaces come free and plenty as summer rain in northern Queensland, the whole fuss appears to be absurd. You can see that fist-fighting for a parking space is at best a borderline call. You can see the fragility of how we comprehend the world. Parking spaces don't matter, you can conclude in your detached, wiser state of consciousness.
But you'd be wrong and this is why: San Francisco, the third most densely populated city in the Americas, has no viable inter-city public transportation. BART just goes to Oakland and MUNI buses...don't make us laugh. Go to a MUNI bus stop past commute time and tell us how it goes. Good luck waiting for that messiah. Then there's taxis, which exist, but just as a hypothesis, like
What this means is that getting anywhere, especially on a weekend evening, is a major hassle. You can't drive, buses aren't making regular runs, it's too windy and cold to hoof it, and no one is answering the taxi hotline. So if you're a girl, and it's Friday night, and you're OK with going to a bar where 70% of the patrons are men, half of whom are hipsters, short or software geeks, then you're still dealing with 50/50 odds you'll be marooned 2 miles from your apartment at 2:06 AM. And remember, the bicycle ride to the Marin Headlands leaves at 8 AM. So what do you do? You get in your jammies and watch Sex in the City.