Blog Titled Explained

There are a lot of "confession" blogs out there that chronicles the lives of the mundane. This blog is one of those, obviously. However, the phrase "Parking Lot Nazi" stems from the lectures we get from the patrons who find it unfair to have to pay to park.

Some of the parking lecturers are not professional speakers. They simply feel the need to express themselves to a person who doesn't control the price of the toll. Most of the time, I sympathize with them because I do believe that paying two-dollars is too much for parking nowhere near the stadium. They have to cross a street from crying out loud.

This year, one parking lecturer decided it was a great idea to have a public discussion between Marcus and myself - even though I was busy collecting from others. Because he was out of the parking lot, he was causing a lot of congestion on the street, which angered several patrons and students alike.

Students, now that I'm on the subject, are also a reason why I decided to call myself a Parking Lot Nazi rather than a troll. Students are more subjected to calling people - anyone they don't like - a Nazi. Why do I know this? Because I was a student once. Students fill up on angst when they see us (or me, rather) standing out in the sun collecting money. And college students are the worse breed because they think everything is unjust. Most of them are there to go to the university gym, others actually go to see the game. Both, however, complain they have to pay.

I should start off by correcting the common mistake and most appalling accusation - students attending the gym do not have to pay a toll. They can park anywhere they like. However, those who are going to the game do. It's unfair because parking permits cost them a pretty penny, but most of them there are on financial aid, which covers it if you should so choose to. Those going to the game, however, put up less of a fight than those who don't have to pay.

One female student decided to take her wrath on me, complaining how unfair it is she had to pay to park when she had a parking permit. She felt the need to bitch me out before I even asked is she was going to the gym, which she mentioned and I had to break into her diatribe and tell her she didn't have to pay if she was going to workout. Still upset, though she rolled her eyes and drove passed me and Marcus but not before I could utter out a "you dumb bitch," which I said loud enough for my former partner and her to hear.

Bossman says we have to be nice to the patrons. Never said anything about being nice to idiotic students.

Drama at the Work Place

Go figure. With a "new" team and "new" management, you'd think that things finally in the stadium would be graceful and happy. Wrong. With the new schedules now in place, I'm not longer a parking lot Nazi, but a parking lot Nazi slash Ticket Troll as well.

That's not the worse part. I work at the stadium for two reasons:

1. My mother works there so getting the job wasn't hard
2. I like chasing cars to collect tolls (which I'm not allowed to do anymore)

And I was in agreement that parking three (or four, whichever it is now) would be my home lot. I'm uncomfortable being in the throes of people. It's part of my anxiety problem (which correlates with a series of mental issues like depression and neurotic behavior). Bossman doesn't like us getting too comfortable in our positions so he wants to expand them. Now I'm in the risk of heat stroke come Thursday and conked on the head by a foul ball on Saturday. This hardly seems fair.

But to add injury to insult, Bossman decided yesterday (on my day off) to attack my mother for doing her job. While the men maintenance workers sit on their backsides most of the day, my mother was doing their job. And it's not a lie, or an over exaggeration. One of these guys used to work on the lot before he decided he wanted more hours (like I did) and request to be transferred to maintenance (like I did, but unlike him, didn't get). On Sunday, said guy was out with his father when I was called in, rather than picking up and cleaning the stadium.

Looks like it's going to be a hell of a season. Let's just hope this blog doesn't get me into trouble. And if it does, then I guess I'll just have to write an inside report. Simple as that.

Conflicts

For the most part, I attempt to keep my job on the down low. The simple fact that I am two years out of college and still can't land a job in the Rio Grande Valley as anything other than a teacher depresses me. It's also rather embarrassing.

Today, I saw my former creative writing professor. There's not hiding from this man; he knows me just by the sight of me. It's not like it was preventable. The parking lot I'm in charge of is right across the street from the university gym, where most of my former classmates and college professors work out (mostly because it's deducted from their paychecks or added to their tuition). We talked for a bit, before some rude jerk who cursed me under his breath, pulled in and paid the toll. He had the small chance of driving by and parking without paying, but he chose to make my life miserable.

Before the interruption, the professor asked me if I was still hosting poetry readings. The truth is, I haven't been in the mood, nor have I been writing very much. I've been jotting down ideas and thoughts, but nothing major. I was hoping that working at the baseball stadium would wind the cogs again and words would pour out. However, this blog is the only creative thing I've done since - well, since anything really.

I'm going to end this before I get too "emo." But I suppose what really gets me down about this job (even though I'm good at it, well, when I was allowed to chase down cars and force the patrons to pay) is that I'm the odd man out. Unlike my fellow co-workers, I don't really care much for picking up girls. I'm too old to play that game. Thing is I'm not the oldest one in the group. It doesn't make me uncomfortable when they talk about these "hot girls" (and they're all pissed off because I took the parking lot right across from the University gym), but it does exclude me from the group. For the most part, until work starts, I keep to myself. And I don't attend their after work reindeer games either.

Dangers and other garbage

It's a dangerous job, toll collector. Not only are we possible victims of jerks who attempt to run us over in order to avoid the two-dollar (my lot) or three-dollar (main lot) parking toll, but we're also subject to freak accidents.

In 2007, a fellow Parking Lot Nazi - let's call him Lou for the sole reason I can't remember his name - had the misfortune of dropping a heavy object on his foot while at a gym. That sealed his fate and pretty much promoted me to parking two. Lou, however, decided to go an file a lawsuit on the establishment. Whether or not he won is still unknown to me.

This year, my former partner, Marcus, called in saying he won't be coming into work again because of a cast on his arm. Details have been spared, but I'm sure it was another freak accident.

We're a small group of people who are constantly being harassed by the patrons of the baseball stadium. We are lectured because prices are too high and sometimes we have hagglers who want a better deal. One time, a man asked if I would park his car. We're toll collectors, not valet parking. Sometimes I wonder if the girls who have the misfortune of becoming Parking Lot Nazis are treated better than us guys. There are two who have joined the team recently. I want to ask, but I'm all the way over on parking three - apparently, it's called parking four now - so I'm completely set apart from them.

With the new members comes a new schedule. One that I only half like. Not only will I be taking tolls this week, I'll also be picking up tickets, a job that has more hours despite if it's a slow day. However, I'm also off three of the eight home games on this stand. That upsets me.

Work Schedule

Starting tomorrow (well, actually starting today) I'll be working all week until next Monday. Truth be told, I don't think I'll be doing much working tomorrow. I go in at four and have to be out in the lot by five. The temperature's to reach 101, which means I should wear sunscreen. I was supposed to rain, however, the forecast has changed. What little hope I had for clouds has evaporated in South Texas heat.

I think I'm going to take a notebook with me and then type everything that happens and all my thoughts (perhaps even license plates and models of cars who don't pay the toll, but instead choose to either try to run me over, or cheat the system). If I had a camera, I'd post the pictures if I had a camera, but I don't. Sadly, I don't.

Cancelation

Meh. I was supposed to work tonight, but I was called that I won't be needed tonight. I was actually looking forward to working considering I've been off for about two weeks.

It wasn't a baseball game. This was wrestling. Apparently, they're not opening my lot, otherwise I'd be working. They're not calling in the other guy either. Seems like it'll just be parking one and two tonight. Is everything else free? Maybe they don't think wrestling will bring in a lot of people. They're wrong. But maybe they just assume it won't bring people. I suppose we'll have to see later. I'll pass by to check.

Origins

I wasn't always this way, I swear. I thought I'd amount to something after I graduated college - yeah, I graduated college - but the job market wasn't booming, writers are a dying species (not to mention the fact that I never took a class on how to write for mass media, or any journalism course) and the location I live in sucks. I had a writing job, but the demands were too hard. I wasn't a journalist - I'm an English major for goodness sake.

I started working at the baseball stadium in 2007. I would've worked in 2008, but management changed their hiring process and nobody returned. This year, they called us in. It's a new team (sort of) and new management. The rules have changed and the game has become rather dull. I'm counting the days until I lose my nerve and start chasing cars.

Truth be told - I'm not loving my job, but it's the only thing I was ever good at. Sad, isn't it?