If you live in New London’s Sixth District, you probably travel down Pequot Avenue with some frequency. And why not? If you have to commute to and from work, you might as well enjoy views of the Sound and/or Thames River.

Of course, as we head toward full summer, there’s an added element to navigating Pequot — and that would be customers trying to park at Fred’s Shanty. The much-loved, seasonal burger/clam shack is SO popular that people will go to extraordinary lengths to get one of the 11 parking spaces directly in front of the restaurant — as opposed to taking a minute to find street parking or simply using the “plenty o’ room” lot across Pequot and up a slight incline from Fred’s.

Typically, here’s what happens dozens of times a day:

1. A driver simply stops in whichever lane on Pequot, directly in front of the Shanty, to WAIT on as-yet-unknown diners to finish eating and then leave. Cars back up in both directions. Cicadas trill. An occasional horn honks.

2. Those directly behind Waiting-To-Park Kook observe that, of the dozens of diners, only two are anywhere close to finishing meals. They’re gonna be here a while because Waiting-to-Park Kook will not be denied.

3. The calendar page turns and someone actually gets in their car to leave, though not before sitting in the driver’s seat and typing out a 5,000-word text. Then, s-l-o-w-l-y, they put the car in gear and back out.

4. What happens next can be interesting. Often, the Waiting-to-Park Kook whips into the new space — and spews forth a team of strong young persons with the bodies and stamina of distance Olympians, any of whom could have back-flipped with ease down the incline of the across-the-street parking lots.

Over the years, out of stubbornness and awe, I’ve voluntarily continued to drive on Pequot simply to watch this stuff unfold daily. However, in that case, it’s best to have prepared assignments to accomplish while I wait. They include:

1. Climbing on the roof of our 2003 Honda CRV to do complex yoga routines.

2. Using a portable loudspeaker to cheerily recite to diners the names of all the dead from Hurricane Katrina, intoned against a recording of funeral bells chiming. I think hotdog-inhaling customers find this soothing.

3. I put my own car in park, trot down to Fort Trumbull, take video of all the hoppin’ urban development going on, post on social media, go back to my car, and wait a while longer until a space opens up.

4. I pull in and eat. It was ME waiting. Screw the losers behind me.