Behind Enemy Lines

Bossman said something strange when I entered the building to sign in. "He's not one," he said, naming me. When Estella walked it, it was the same. Apparently, former-Super had gone into work to drop off his keys. He said with him, five people will surely quit. Bossman was just wondering which of his employees would choose a side. I'm a neutral party.

Brandon was in parking. Early on, he said he wasn't going to stay the long period. This meant that I was going to get gate duty when Julie left. And sure enough, there I was standing at the gate, making sure people don't leave with beer. Time passed, and I noticed that no one was coming to take my place.

Bossman had left Brandon go home early because he'd complained the night before, not wanting to be at the gate. It's not fair, though, because later in the night as I rushed to get the rooms cleaned, Bossman looked at me with this air of anger. "I'm the son of a super woman, I'm not a super man," I wanted to say. Even my mother would've struggled to clean the suites if she had to stand at the gate because some lazy, whiny white boy didn't want to work. It's alright. Tonight Fred's going to be at the game, and I'll leave him at the gate while I go and clean the rooms. I refuse to relieve Brandon and I have made my complaint with Estella about it.

Two more games for this home stand, and then I'm on break for four days. I can only anticipate the hell I'm going to have when things blow up and Brandon takes the inevitable step in quitting the moment when it's announce that he's stuck in the lot.

The times are a changin'

It's a Bob Dylan song playing on a continuous loop. Since last Thursday, when I missed because I was sick, things have been slowly changing at the stadium. Yesterday, the major changes began. Super was fired.

I was outside before work, as usual, reading. I went inside the main office to see if the sign in sheet was there. It wasn't, so I went back outside and went back to reading. Afterward, Super came out of the doors. He looked at me, eyes distant. He was frowning. Rough day, I was guessing. He mumbled, "I'll be right back." His voice was farther away. I didn't think anything of it. Soon after he stepped out of the gates, Bossman came up to me and leaned upon the table in front of me.

"Things are going to be different," he said. I thought he was talking about my new work load. It didn't matter, I signed up for it. "How much of a load will it be if we were to take the barricades?"

"Like one by one? We can take two at a time, but that's walking back and forth. It's going to be a lot of work."

I still hadn't caught on. I told him Fred had a truck and we'd use his. I called Estella to get his number. Fred didn't answer, so I looked up and saw Brandon (the new guy) walk in. He has a truck. We used his. When we get back from setting up, Fred greets us with the bags. Estella is somewhere inside. He tells me that Super's gone for the day. Things aren't making much sense. Was he sick?

I take parking two's bag and Estella comes out. She tells us what has just taken place. She's now our supervisor. Apparently Super had run out of warnings and Bossman had to do the final thing. It was sad to see him go. I know I didn't really like the guy because I didn't really know him well. But any man willing to show you his scars is worth knowing. Things will change.

After setting up, the Deal Maker (who I never speak to, but yesterday was different) pulled up and asked if I wanted to do promotions. I said that I didn't really like people, which is why I'm in parking. We closed up lot 2 and I was going to trade places with Brandon. When arriving, Deal Maker stayed on his cell and told me to get back into the car because they wanted me inside instead. From now on, lot 1 will be the only entrance to the game. I can only imagine the hell that will be the parking lot. Of course, on Thursday's all three will be open and not free.

For the meanwhile, I'm still to report at my same time, mop up the suites that need it, replace paper towel and toilet paper in the restrooms and sweep up excess crap. Then I'm wherever they put me. I'm going to ask if I can do Estella's old job in the meanwhile, because after a while, I'm just a guy walking around. I don't want to be on that list.

We're going to see a few people quitting, mostly the Ticket Troll girls. Super always left them go, Estella's not as nice. They have to stay until the end, is what she always said. Yesterday, the one who arrived caught word of the change and knew that she would have to stay. She faked her daughter's sickness and went home.

No one said working outside the diamond was going to be pretty.

Listening to the Action Man during work

"Ashes to Ashes" played in ear. David Bowie's voice is hypnotic. No sign of the Scooter Gang of Lot 2. No sigh of anyone. Sundays are slow days. I only bring in 53 tickets. I look over to lot 3 and see new guy - whose name I haven't bothered to learn yet - standing at the very entrance, something I don't do due to the safety hazard of being hit by a moron. And there are a lot of morons who park in lot 3.

Like me, new guy calls in people who don't pay. One guy asked Super when they started charging and that he parked there yesterday and no one was there. When Super said I was there, the guy said, "Well, he must've not been doing his job." We can always figure out the liars this way. They always accuse me, the only true parking lot Nazi in the midst of the ball park, of not doing my job. No one gets in for free on my watch. No one.

With that, I let in three people for free. I couldn't be bothered with their excuses of not having any money. Well, the first two anyway. The last one was a sweeter person who only had two dollars. She asked if there was free parking. I told her to go ahead. It's pretty pointless for her to go to lot 3 and have to pay for parking she's already paid for as a student. She's nice about it. She attempts to convince me otherwise. I tell her it's a free shot. No one's going to do anything to her car. I let her in on the truth of the tickets - they're for inventory use only. No one comes around to check cars. It would be too hard to distinguish guests from workers from guests who beat the system by coming early.

And the inevitable happened. Javi came to work. It wasn't something we were expecting, but we knew shit would blow up sooner or later. We kept our cool.

On Evaders, Firing, Work Changes & Books

Javi was out yesterday. Fred and I already knew he was planning on missing work. As we were heading our way to our lots, Estella told us they were not going to want Javi back. The reason wasn't good by the sound of her voice. Fred and I talked it over for a bit. We couldn't come up with anything.

Tim was supposed to take Javi's place in his absence, but he was a no show. Another guy assigned by Super came to relieve me of parking two and sent me to three. I wasn't happy about the news. I went anyway, but being pissed off meant no one was getting in for free. No one.

The toll jumpers laughed at me as the zoomed around and parked for free. When they walked to the gates of the stadium, Estella was standing there waiting for them. As they left the lot, I laughed back. Another toll jumper told me I should be standing up front. That four people got passed me. Which is funny because the four people who got passed me did a U-turn (not really) and came back to me to pay, or ask if I was there to collect payments. How do I know this? Because I was talking to one when he told me that I had to move up.

My response was angry, "Sir, I can be standing anywhere on the lot. I can have a huge sign that says pay here. The thing is, people like you will still continue to take the other route and still say I'm not doing my job right. If you didn't see me, you would've turned where you're supposed to and continue to park. Instead, you drove along the median and turned into the lot to park. And there's several of you who do that and then you act innocent and pretend that you didn't see me. Today I chose to be further in the lot because you all expect me right there as you turn in. I've already caught seven people who normally don't pay because they didn't see when I was closer to the entrance. Don't tell me how to do my job and I won't tell you how much of a dick you are."

I'm sure that was embellished...all that in one angry breath seems impossible. Later I told Super the same thing. He agreed, even stating that me standing there in the sun with a bag strapped on my shoulder was a sign that people had to pay.

After going in, I went to the bank, counted my money and came out eight dollars over. It should've been twelve, but Super apparently hadn't turned in the money he picked up. The guy who took parking two, normally in tickets, asked me how I keep my bag organized. It's a hard job especially when people come in waves. The money gets bunched. Because I'm the only person in the lot who has a bag (I provide my own), I suggest that maybe management looks into to buying three more (just in case I'm absent). Hopefully the word gets to Bossman.

Fred and I went back to work to pick up the barricades. When returning, because Javi was out, Super put me on gate duty, a job I loathe because I have to do some more standing. Starting Monday, however, I take over Mom's maintenance job after parking. I'm probably not going to see a raise in my paycheck as my mother let me in on her secret after agreeing to do so. Apparently there isn't any work to be done, she just makes herself look busy. Great. But if I have to go in during the day to do the job, then I'm asking for a raise.

While on gate duty, I learned who will be replacing Javi, one of the beer island guys. While speaking to Super about parking three, he asked if he could have a book. I looked up, unsure what was going on. Super looked at me and repeated what he just asked. My eyes grew wide. What happens in lot three, stays in lot three. I don't tell them I listen to music or that I write during down time. And I never, ever look like I'm not working. When I write, it's in a tiny composition book and I do it standing.

However, I do carry a book with me that I read before and after work, never during. I'm not that crazy. I've tried it once, but it doesn't work. I'm thinking new guy just lost his spot in lot three.

The Scooter Gang of Parking Lot 2

It's one of those things you write a short story about and, later, an adaptation for a film. I was in lot 2 yesterday because I was (and am) still healing from a stomach bug I caught during the week. Because lot 2 is full view of the score board, I get a lot of stragglers from the neighborhood who stand outside the gate "watching" the game. (Note: It's entirely impossible to watch the game, as a stadium suggests "stadium seating" which means the main show is at the bottom and our jumbo TV doesn't work.)

Yesterday, however, was different. The stragglers came in the form of two kids, both under 11-years-old. They were riding scooters and were being followed by their pet chihuahua. I saw the smallest of the two slip in and out of the stadium, so I called Estella and told her that there was a situation. The kids didn't belong in the stadium as they neither paid, nor had any parental supervision - which, really boils down to, they didn't pay. After reporting the two thugs, Super came out and asked me how they were getting in. His solution had minimal effect.

However, knowing now that their entrance was jeopardized, the two thugs then started harassing me. Now that's a sight to see, ladies and gentlemen: Two kids, attempting to be tough to an adult. Normally, I strike fear into kids who piss me off because I can pretty ill tempered. However, yesterday, I was sick and I didn't want to deal with them. I only hoped the university police would pull in and I'd report their asses. I have little patience, as you can tell, for people who don't follow the rules. Which is strange, because I hardly follow the rules.

Later in the night, while Fred, Javi and I were putting in the barricades, three kids came up to us and told us that two kids on scooters were "telling us bad words, sir." The Scooter Gang had struck again, only know there were three of us in guard. I can't say I've seen the last of them; surely the scooter gang is still out there, plotting their revenge on parking lot 2.

Bored

I'm counting the days before I go back to work. The only unlucky thing about it is that I'm looking at a Thirsty Thursday game, which means hell on earth.

In other news, I'm going to read up on baseball. If my nonexistent readers have any suggestions, please comment them. Any books that deals with the sport will do nicely, but please no biographies of any sort.

Week-end off

Great day. Nice day. It was a good day.

Morning Pains

Working outside as a Parking Lot Nazi has inspired me to work out a little more. I feel like I'm too weak. I am, by the way. I'm just this doughy looking dude who can't run worth a hell anymore.

Today I'm completely sore from yesterday's work out. I've been doing the minor things, but I'm slowly building up. To add insult to injury, however, my body decided to betray me. What a way to spend my days off: sore and sick from my stomach.

I was supposed to have coffee with El Senor today, but I guess I'll spend my time thinking of a way to work on the philosophy of a Parking Lot Nazi. Stay tuned.

Things Parking Lot Nazis Do On Their Day Off

Went to pick up the check today. Bossman, or someone, had the water hose on. Nice job watering the pavement and the neighboring street.

To settle a feud that Jyg and I have been having with Izzy, I asked the lady which day I didn't show up for work. The answer, apparently, was the 30th, which I'm beginning to doubt because I could've sworn it was a Monday and June only has 30 days. Doesn't matter, I know I missed one day and we watched True Blood sans Izzy and she's hell bent in stating she was with us. Which is weird, because right afterward we watched a movie, one that Izzy (being twelve) would surely have complained about.

After depositing the check, I went to purchase some much needed stuff. A new pillow, a new pillow protector sheet and a new bed sheet thingie - the thing you put on top of the mattress to keep it from staining...I forget what it's called, a protector of sorts. I picked up another Hawaiian shirt - I love them! - and some DVD-Rs because I needed to move stuff off my computer. It was quite the sweet day. Best part is, I didn't have to work!

Pay Day

Word around the water cooler is that Wednesday (today, actually) is pay day. Finally.

Hecklers, Nazis & Toll Jumpers

Toll's three dollars (I was in lot one, today). Across the street it's two dollars. It's simple. In the years that the city has had a baseball team, there has never - EVER - been a time when you didn't have to pay the price. Granted that it has gone up significantly, it's still nevertheless a charged fee.

Today, I got a woman who drove behind me, following Estella. She probably figured if the lady in the black truck didn't have to pay, then she didn't either. The lady in the black truck, of course, works at the stadium. They caught her at the door. There's no need for that anymore.

Ever since Bossman told us (meaning me, as I'm sure my reputation has followed me) we could not chase cars anymore, parking three has been less than stellar. However, I've discovered a cure for this. If I can't catch them in the act, then I'm going to embarrass them at the door. Well, today Fred got lot 3 and he was more than frustrated with the people. And there wasn't a thing he could do. I told him that the rules have changed and if he's going to play the game well, then he has to phone in the toll jumpers. I'd bust them too, if I had to. There's no reason for them to jump ship - if honest hard working people have to dish it out, then everyone should have to dish it out.

Problem is, now we've got a whole new set of problems. Escalation.

Much like the ending of Batman Begins, the way we play "the game" has changed since 2007. When I started chasing the cars down, they found other means of getting by me. Sometimes they'd come in packs. I'd leave my post as one of them jumped the median, while the other one pulled in. Chances are, I couldn't get both of them, and I couldn't be in two places at once. Today, the toll jumpers found a new way in - run over the barricades. City property defaced by a blue, white-striped Mustang. Or they speed right by us, knowing full well that we can't follow. When we call in descriptions, there are so many, how can we get them all down at once?



And Toll Jumpers aren't the only problem plaguing the stadium, leaving everyone in a pissy mood. The rate of insanity with the Hecklers has reached an all time low. Yesterday, there were only about six men who were booing, name calling and swearing - today they brought their girlfriends and others like them. Super had to go to great lengths to walk them out of the ball park because they were now attempting to start a fight with the visiting team - and I'm sorry, you hecklers out there, chances are the team will wipe the floors with you because you're all talk and no muscle. And next home stand, they'll be there again and probably worse.

But not only have they started with the visitors, but also a gang of teenage hecklers parked themselves on the home side. Estella's alone in the taking care of the crowd while we're off being parking lot Nazis. When we come in, we're only adding two extra guys. We can't be everywhere at once. We're walking around, attempting to keep the crowd calm.

It was a good day, nevertheless. Mainly because it was the last game of the home stand and I get nine days off to do whatever I please.

On a side note, the parking lecturers have decreased. Today, I got one, but for the most part he was too tired, too frustrated, or realized I've heard it all before.

Frustrated Old Lady

Fred called in today so he was a no show. Super put me in lot 1 - the sun spot. I swear, I'm two shades darker now. For the most part, I didn't mind it. Mother Nature had cast her clouds high above me, shielding me from the sun - this, however, didn't last long. She also blew - quite fiercely - her cool breeze. I was fresh.

Early in, an old lady pulled up with $2 waving out. This is a common thing as most of the older patrons still long for the day when the stadium parking was that much. I told her it was three and she snapped at me. Patience, Ennui. She doesn't know what she's saying. She can't be held responsible. To make sure that there isn't any special treatment going on, I call Estella and ask her. I tell her the lady's paid two in the past - or so she says - and had lodged a complaint with a ticket clerk. However, there isn't a pass on it and I report the grim news to the lady, handing back her two dollars. She snaps again at me, but more at the rules this time around, "I'm not going to pay it." She pulls up and turns around and leaves. Fare thee well, old lady.

I don't agree with the parking price, either. I feel bad that people have to hand over cash to get into the game and, if they have kids, for food inside. That's quite a bit of cash down the drain for some "family" entertainment. Another home based team only charges one dollar for their toll, but from what I heard, their parking lot is just a lot - sans asphalt, pavement, parking lines.

However, one guy some time last home stand told me where he came from parking was $12. In fact, he pulled into lot 3 with a small hope in his voice, praying that it was only $2.

When you line it up to that, you're getting a pretty good deal. It's either pay a toll, or higher ticket prices - no matter where you park. Of course, this gets rid of the need of parking lot Nazis, such as myself.

Hecklers, Dumbasses & Stupid Ideas

Apparently to Bossman, us little people are an "inconvenience" and "distraction" to the bankers so we have to bank outside, rather than going inside the room. Now when we bank, we deal with both money and tickets - either of which can blow out of our hands and get lost. Apparently, Bossman doesn't think this is possible and mankind have conquered wind to the point that we can now control it - perhaps he gets this confused because we can harvest it.

Well, if things aren't changed tomorrow, then I'm going to take my money directly to him and have him bank because I will not count that money outside that office. There's no reason to put ourselves in a position of being robbed (it's not like we're not already) or losing money.

But Bossman wasn't the only dumb ass tonight had to offer. A gang of hecklers from the other night returned, this time far drunker than they were before. Not only did they call someone from the opposing team a nigger, they also called a kid a faggot. I'm not saying that the kid didn't stir them either, because he did and they were both in the wrong, but the hecklers did start it. The family of the child should've taught him better - you know, be actual parents.

I think what's wrong with America can be summed to what is wrong with baseball. I get it - all sports have hecklings, but once it becomes racist, then a line has been crossed. The moment that it comes to profanity, throwing beer and attacking the fans of the opposing team, it is something completely different. And I wasn't upset that the kid was insulting the hecklers, I was actually hoping he'd throw better insults. However, in the long run he's still just a kid and they're a bunch of drunk men - if it got ugly, then it would get really ugly.

Super asked the other fans to calm down, while not expelling the hecklers from the game. That was bad form. These people are representing us - the team and the city - and allowing them to continue shows that we are allowing it to happen.

It was a sad day to day. A day filled with morons. And sadly I'm working for one. I've come to accept that the powers that be will always be stupid white men who cannot take care of their own money and reward those who break the rules by giving them more beer. Kudos!

No Change & Compliments

For the most part, yesterday wasn't a busy day. It was slightly better, but not busy for me. Monday, on the other hand, has been forecast as a busy day.

Most of the time, I was waiting until a car pulled up. When it did, the others soon followed. The another vehicle bearing the university parking permit made it look like they were going to park on the other side of me, but then quickly changed their mind and drove toward the end of the median and parked. Unlucky for them, I called it in. They had to pay at the door.

Closer to the end of my shift, two cars - one brown one blue - decided they weren't going to pay either. A guy in a jeep saw me taking down their license plates and he paid. Because I lost the brown car in that instance, I called in the passengers of the blue car. Later, I realized the brown car and the blue car came together and those who I called in were relations.

The rules of the game have changed. Because I can no longer chase them, I call them in. Most of them play dumb and act as if they didn't know, even though they slowed long enough to see me there. They do go around for a reason.

Estella complimented me - I wasn't there to hear it - stating I was a good worker. Not a good worker, no. I just don't like the fact that those who are honest with me pay, while those who like to break rules don't. Toll Jumpers shouldn't be rewarded.

Tricks of the trade & College students have gotten wise

There is no such thing as free parking. Most of the patrons would like to think there is by bypassing me. It isn't a hard task to do. They simply ignore me.

Because the rules of the game have changed, I'm not longer chasing them (unless, of course, it's a slow Sunday and I'm bored out of my mind), so the tricks have to change. Yesterday, and the days before, I implemented pad and pen trick. It's where I actually write down someones license plate after looking at me and driving forward. This puts them in a state of paranoia because they know I'm going to report their vehicle for not paying. This worked twice yesterday.

Another trick is the one Fred taught me, and one I've already been using. When a patron drives passed me without stopping, jumps the sidewalk or whatever other trick they have, I call them in and send their description. This gets them paranoid that I'm calling a higher authority - which I am, but not the one they think I'm calling - and they return and pay or leave the lot.

Now, I don't stop all the people who enter my parking lot. I've become very discriminative with who stops and who can park. The reason is because several of the college students who enter are parking for the gym across the street. So if I see the parking permit and if they're wearing what I consider work out clothing, they don't have to stop. But two girls have gotten wise about this. They pulled in and parked near the gym, only to drive off when I turned my back to them. Sneaky, but that just cost the rest of them who are actually going to the gym to be stopped and inquired.

Now, again, not all of them will be stopped. A few of them will be let in because I already know who they are and they've already established themselves. If they should sneak passed me, then the rules will have to change again.

Last night, however, I planned to speak with the manager of the stadium to tell him of the my problem. Yesterday was a lost of $10, which isn't much, but still all that money adds up in the end. Especially those who get passed me on Thursdays.

Estella wanted to put a block on the other side, but against my better judgment, I told her it was a bad idea as it would not only piss off a lot of college students, but also cause a great congestion in my area. What I need, even though it's highly not necessary, is a partner again. After Marcus departure - and his return yesterday left me with a shimmering glimpse of hope - I have been grinding my teeth. It's not so much that they bypassed me that bugs me, but that several other, hardworking people have to pay while these free spirit morons are allowed in for free. Again, I've never been one to screw over the hardworking.

So today, I'm going to make my case. Either I get to chase after them, or they give me a partner or they lose money. Simple as that.

Golly Miss Molly

Well, I return to work today. I'm not sure if I'm looking forward to it. It's not going to be as busy as last Friday, which is a good thing, but it will be busy. We'll see how it all goes. I'm tired.

Some rules for the Nazis: A Rough Draft

Okay, yesterday I posted the rules for the patrons - which were more than 10, by the way. I'm still working on this philosophy. Hopefully after I shell out all the redundancy. I'll do the same for these rules:

1. DO NOT, under any circumstances, pocket any money. The exception, of course, is tips. I understand that there are urges to just pocket some cash, disposing of the tickets that the money belonged to, or the few dollars you received when you had no tickets. But it is wrong.
2. Be patient with the patrons. Even if the old f@#k in the red Ford truck is one of them. And even though it's easier to say fuck off to him, be patient with them. If you have a serious problem with one patron, report his ass.
   
3. You don't have the best job in the world, but it's still a job. So do it right.
4. Old men, single mothers, single fathers, old women, teenagers, college students, etc. are all the same people and they all have means of money. It doesn't matter if they're hot or not, DO NOT allow anyone in free. There are only a few circumstances - if they're driving a shitty car and has to go to the bank to get the money, it's an inconvenience to them. They've probably shelled out a lot of money to have this one good day. It's against our morals, ethics and rules to allow them in for free, but it doesn't matter. In the long term, they'll come again, prepared next time.
   
5. If a person has only two dollars and a fifty, take the fifty only if you have enough change. If not, let them in for free and then call it in. They'll have to pay at the door if management cares at all.
   
6. Under any circumstance, DO NOT fall for the flirtatious girls. They'll only do it to get in for free. They don't care about you.
   
7. With that said: EVERYONE PAYS. It doesn't matter if they're wife, father, daughter, son, aunt, uncle, niece, nephew, etc. of any of the players or coach. There are only few exceptions to this, and they are old men who have been around since the beginning. However, every stadium is different, I'm only referencing the one I work at.
8. DO NOT chase cars.
   
9. With that in mind, chase cars who get passed only if they've done it more than once and only if you're completely bored.
10. DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT snap at a patron and then at someone higher than you. Chances are both deserve it, but it's just in bad form.
    

A few "Dos & Do Nots:" A Rough Draft

Ten Commandments are everywhere - in holy books, in not-so-holy books; there are the 10 Commandments of writing, of acting, of directing, of singing, of working, of everything. However, I've never come across the 10 Commandments of Parking Lot Etiquette. This is, because, most of you are douche bags and treat the parking lot attendants like jerks. We're not jerks, you all are - we should get that straight right away.

If parking is too expensive, you cannot blame those who pick up the toll. It's out of our hands. Hell, we're not even authorized (or supposed to) to give refunds if you're not staying. We're at the bottom of the heap - the maintenance workers are above us - no offense to those who work in maintenance.

So for you parking your cars in our lot, here are some rules:

1. If you're already in a sour mood, DON'T come to the game. It will only piss you off even more, and eventually get your ass reported to the powers that be, which might lead to your expulsion from the game and any future games. This also includes your family, which came with you.
   
2. I understand cussing out people might make you feel better, but DON'T cuss out a parking lot Nazi. This will only cause problems and leave one of us beaten - and believe you me, it won't be the jerk outside of the car. Cuss me out if you have to, but don't verbally abuse me. It's not my fault that the toll is $2 or $3. And if you do decide to blame me, do it under your breath and DO NOT attempt to take me down with you, because I will and I'll go swinging if I need to. You've been warned.
3. DO NOT think you can out run us, should we be isolated and alone on a Slow Sunday. Chances are, you'll annoy us and you'll still have to pay. If a vehicle should enter while we're chasing you down, there's a slight possibility that you'll have to pay for them, too (though we won't tell you this and chances are if they see us going after you, they'll come pay us for fear of the same punishment).
   
4. Tip your Parking Lot Nazis if need be. We really don't do much but collect tolls, but standing in the sun is a horrible thing to do in the middle of July. If you feel the need to tip us, don't feel silly doing so even though we see it as such. We'll be glad to take it and we'll thank you. It's just courtesy.
5. DO NOT ask us where the free parking lot is. There isn't any! It's $2 or $3, period. However, if you're nice and sweet, we'll tell you that on the other side of lot 3 is the university's problem. If you get caught there, it's not ours. If you want to take the risk, then take it.
   
6. Parking Lot Nazis (the men anyway) love girls. However, this one is immune to their ways. Just because I can see your oversize cleavage and your undersized skirt (which leads to god knows where, but I fear infection) doesn't mean I'm going to be nice to you and say go ahead and park for free. That sort of response is left for those who don't have the proper change or look like they worked hard to bring their kids to this one game. I'm serious. Don't try to flirt with me. It won't work.
   
7. No water, sodas or food is allowed inside the stadium. It's common sense. We didn't make the rules, society did. You don't take your own popcorn to a movie, do you? Well, at least not openly stating so.
8. In comparison, $2 or $3 isn't so much against the fine/prison time, you'll get from running us over. Think about it.
   
9. Making conversation with us is a good thing. And it's welcomed. Even if it is negative toward the price of parking. Truth be told, most of us do sympathize with you.
   
10. Free parking does exist, but only before we take up our posts and after we leave. Anything in between, you're completely screwed.
11. The toll is $2-$3. DO NOT bring in a fifty or a hundred and expect change. Half the times, we'll call it in and say you didn't pay, therefore embarrassing you and your family at the gate.
12. If we're on the phone, it means we're calling in for more cash. Please be kind about this.
    

What to do on a day off

Sadly, I'm off for four days (including yesterday and today) and will return to work on Friday. So what does a parking lot Nazi do on his time off? Nerd out, of course. I started watching the Spider-Man Trilogy and I must say, the movies are pretty good.

Although, I'm still pissed about Topher Grace playing Eddie Brock/Venom. That's just me.

Will Chase Cars for Toll

What a day! I haven't felt that alive in some time. Sundays are normally dull days because lot 3 only gets a few cars - 10 at most. Yesterday was no different. It was hot, boring and slow. I sat most of the time because I was still feeling sick from my stomach. Around seven o'clock, I saw something across the parking lot. It was moving at a rapid speed. As it got closer, I noticed it was an empty cardboard box tumbling in the wind. What a way to set the mood. It was like one of those old Western movie cliches that we recognize automatically as barren and vacant. The box as tumble weed was the last thing to seal the deal that the day would be long.

Twenty minutes later, I saw a tan minivan pull into the lot, having jumped over the median. There was a quick inner battle with myself, wondering if I should disregard Bossman's rules. At orientation, he said anyone who gets in passed us without paying should be let in, "It's not worth the $2 if you get injured."

I stepped forward, said fuck it and walked down the hot asphalt, picking up speed toward the van. Within shouting distance, I called out, "Excuse me! You have to pay for parking!"

The man in the yellow polo shirt, an idiot, looked up and asked, "Even here?"

"Even here..." ...asshole.

Lot 3 has three entrances, two of which are blocked by our horses. These people know that they have to pay if they come through me, so they go through an ROTC entrance which is blocked off from lot 3 by a sidewalk. Because the pavement is low enough to drive over without damage, most people take it. Because Bossman told us these people aren't worth it, I've been passive about chasing them. Of course, yesterday was a dull day.

After collecting and running back to my post, I felt happier, more alive - like a true Parking Lot Nazi! And it was the many reasons why I wanted the job again - the exercise!

Tips & Other Means of Revenue

Anyone who has ever collected a toll would probably have the urge to overcharge and pocket the extra money. I'm not going to say I haven't thought about it, but I know that I'd never do it because I have a code of ethics and screwing over hard working people is a part of my do nots.

However, there are a few times with extra cash comes in that I do get to pocket. I'm not sure why we get tips when we're not parking cars. I understand if we were valet, but we're not. We're simple toll collectors picking up the cash for the stadium.

Yesterday, a man with a goblet of wine pulled into the lot. He wasn't driving, mind you. He was with a few friends. I charged them the regular three-dollar toll for lot 2 and he counted off the bills, passing them one at a time. "One...two...five!"

"Well, that's confusing," I chuckled and handed back the two dollars.

As I dug in my bag for his change, he said to keep a dollar as tip. Okay, so I took out one dollar. As I gave the lady driver the dollar to pass to him, the man took gave back one of the dollars that he'd originally gave to me and I returned plus the dollar change I was giving him and said to keep it as a tip since I was working so hard in the hot sun. I stood there after they left wondering just how much I had left. I know it's three dollars in tips, but at the time I kept turning it over in my head.

By the end of the night, I had about seven dollars in tips and what not because people were in such a good (drunk) mood last night. I used the extra cash to help those who couldn't pay off their toll and for a soda.

However, back in 2007, standing in the sun, I realized just how easy it would be to sell drugs while on the job. I had the perfect location. It sparked a lot of creativity on my part. I won't ever do it, but it would be nice to write about it, wouldn't it?

There's no rest for the wicked

Despite still feeling sick, I'm going to work today at 4:15pm because Tim hasn't returned from out of town. Estella called me and I was intent on ignoring all the calls then make up some bullshit later. Sad part is, I'm not that sort of guy. I told her that I was still sick and if she couldn't find a single person to cover for me, then I'd go in. That translated, of course, to stop looking I'll go in. I just wanted to let them know I was on call whenever they needed me, just as long as I have a ride to work.

After today, the team is heading out of town for four days, returning on Friday. After four days of home games, I'm off from the 14-22. In that period of time, I hope to get paid once again so I can go out and buy me a much needed book and Watchmen DVD which is out on the 21st.

While talking to Estella, I told her about the old f@#k in the red Ford truck who was giving me beef because of my calling Super while working. She told me if he does it again, to snap a picture - thank you picture phone! - and send it in. I told her if I don't get a picture of him, then I'll get a picture of his license plates and the model and they can do what they will with that information. There's no need to be so rude to people, period.

No Ticket Trollin' for this Parking Lot Nazi

I go in sick yesterday, thinking I was going to be a Ticket Troll. When I got there, I see Estella at the gate, money bags in hand. I know the worse is coming. Because my sickness dealt with my stomach, I requested them not to send me all the way to lot 3 because with the heat, I might just wind up puking my guts out with no one ever knowing it was happening. So they gave Fred 3 and I stayed in lot 2. For the most part, it was grand.

Until the old f@#k in the red Ford truck pulled up. I've dealt with him this past home stand. He's a bitter old man who thinks the world owes him a great deal of everything. The first time, he cussed me under his breath - in Spanish, I should add, so it makes the insults way more annoying that those who do it in English. This time, however, I was running out of fives and I hate giving out ones in change - c'mon people, if the toll's $3, why don't you just give me a five or a ten? Stop using that, "Oh the ATM only gives out twenties" excuse because you can stop at a store and buy a drink.

Anyway, I'm on the phone, calling Super to bring me some fives or ones or something, as long as it's change. The old f@#k in the red Ford truck pulls up, I take his money and give him his ticket, with the phone glued to my ear in hopes that someone on the other line will answer it. As he drives away, however, the old f@#k in the red Ford truck, again deciding to cuss me out in Spanish, tells me to get off the phone and do my goddamn job. To which, I turn and blatantly, in English, tell him to go f@#k himself. Two can play that game, but only one of us knows both languages.

I told Fred about it and he's the one who pointed out that he drove a Ford. Because I know the truck he drove was red, the description matched. If I'm ever at lot 2 again, and that old fuck comes in with his attitude. I'm snapping a picture of him, his plates and then running them over to Bossman so the fucker can get banned from the stadium. There's not need to treat anyone in such a fashion.

Like I told Jyg, this guy's just in a permanent bad mood. I'm usually in one, as well, but I, at least, have the decency to stray away from things during it. Or if it's because he has to pay for parking, then he can find another lot - a so-called free lot - and park. Or he doesn't have to go to the game at all; he can just sit at home and wank off. Just as long as he doesn't bother me with his shit.

And that's all I have to say about that. I'm in the process of making a list of dos and don'ts for both parking lot Nazis and those who inhabit the lot.

A Parking Lot Nazi's Guide to Love...

...but only, not really.

The stadium hosted their 4th of July firework show last night, selling about 1100 tickets in advance. It was also game two of the White Wings, a feud that was still fired up from the night before. Needless to say, we won. And even though I don't understand the fans' obsession with baseball, I was happy to see that we won. Why? you wonder. Because White Wing fans are the most insulting, rude and downright despicable people. And it's not because they're the other team, but because they are and it's a downright fact after last night. No offense to the good ones, however. Like most groups of people, this is just a hasty generalization.

I was suppose to start out at lot 2, but Super had a change of heart and put me in 3 when I made my case. While Javi is a good worker, I was fearful that he wouldn't report the cars who "get smart" and drive by him. I, at least, take down plate numbers and call them in if I can. I'm also going to start asking university police if they can give out citations to those vehicles I listed. Truly, I am a Parking Lot Nazi.

Later on, Javi was sent to help me out. Now, it's hard to forget the kid's ten years younger than me, and he probably doesn't see me as much older than him. During the span, a group of girls - probably ranging from 14-16 years old - passed us by. Javi was quick to note them and made a comment on hot they were. I, of course, made an uncomfortable smirk and didn't say anything, though I could've said, "Dude, they're just kids," but again, he's their age.

And I get that a lot with the parking lot quartet (meaning, just the men as the ladies didn't join the team until later on in the season). The guys are your typical man's men. They're oversexed, constantly checking out women, talking about sex and picking up chicks. And it's humorous seeing them in "action," which, I believe, is mostly show for the rest of us. However, when the subject turns to women, I normally walk away or start doing something else on my own. I don't know how to talk like they do. Even when Super and I were picking up the horses the other night, he and I were having a serious (as serious as a conversation about parking can get) conversation when he just turned and said, "Not so bad, eh?" I looked up and saw a girl who was walking across the street in front of us wearing short shorts and a tank top. I grimaced and muttered something in hopes that it sounded positive, though my first thought was, "Aren't you married? Don't you have girls? Would you like that to be said about your daughters?"In a sense, I guess, I'm more respectable to women - keeping the bedroom stuff in the bedroom. It's not that I'm a prude - I used to write porn for side cash (no joke) - but I don't feel comfortable because the truth is, I'm not into girls/women. I already have something I love and that's all that matters to me. Everyone else is just simply invisible.

And that makes it hard on the girls with the tiny tops and short skirts who attempt to flirt with this parking lot Nazi, in an attempt to get in for free. Of course, out in parking 3, they're a rare breed. Most of them are college students who I instruct if they don't want to pay, they can just park on the other side where my jurisdiction ends (man, I am a Nazi, aren't I?)

And because I'm in the lot that everyone wants - lot 3 is just across the street from the university rec center - I disappoint others when I don't return with a horde of phone numbers in my little black book (a mini marble composition book I take with me everywhere I go to make notes on thoughts and ideas that come to me - I also write down conversations).

Most of the time, I feel like just telling them I'm gay - which I'm not - so they can get off my back about it. Of course, if I say that, then I'll either be shunned or they'll start asking me about guys.

As the night progressed, Javi again started talking about girls. After a while, I attempted to join in. I am, after all, a would-be writer, so I can make up lies on the spot. But I noticed his part seemed a tad forced, leaving me wonder if he, too, was just doing it to be one of the guys. Who knows.

And yeah, the title to this post will be rather misleading.

Sky Flowers in the Sky & Other Zombie Comparisons

Ever since watching Land of the Dead every time I see fireworks in the sky, I can't help but to think about sky flowers. I know that at times the "of the Dead" series are used as social commentary, but I can't compare baseball goers to zombies, could I?

Ennui Prayer (the Hunger Writer) presents:
The 7th Inning Stretch of the Dead

I suppose we should get off on a good start. Today Chik-fil-A sponsored something or other at the game. It was a good thing and the commentary isn't about them - however, when they started tossing out free soft balls and toy cows at the audience, things got bad.

I already had about five hours standing at the parking lot, bringing in a nice bundle (I sold about 170 tickets), before being put on guard to make sure the children didn't get onto the field or on top of the dug out. That was only job I had to do. When the cow and his girls started tossing out the freebies, pandemonium broke lose. I knew that the kids were going to pile up, but men too? C'mon, gimme a break. The thing that worried me most was that these men all had a couple of beers in their systems and they were no holds bar on attempting to get the freebies. I half expected on of them to punch a kid in the face and take the goods. Luckily, for me and the for the kids, that didn't happen.

But seeing the hordes of people surrounding the cow and girls, I started to think any minute now, and someones arms will be ripped off and a zombiesque howl will echo throughout the night. I'm a little zombie crazed, if you haven't guessed.

Another prime example of baseball goers as zombies is the parking lot. When I told them it was two dollars, half of them looked at me with this vacant stare. I half expected one of them to lurch out at me and pull me in, ripping the flesh of my throat as I struggled for freedom. Not to mention the ones who just looked at me, nodding their heads and passing by. Not zombiesque, unless of course, they saw me as one of them.

In Addition: I failed to mention consumption in this post. Like the undead, baseball fans have this violent urge to consume more than they need. Watching them feasting on crap that would kill them (and possibly make them into real zombies) is downright nauseating. And much like their undead counterparts, baseball goers leave behind a trail of gutted watermelon, sucked dry bottles and pieces of half eaten food on the floor.

NaBloPoMo has taken over my blog

Still in its infancy, "Confessions of a Parking Lot Nazi" has taken on the "challenge" of NaBloPoMo and I hope to stick to it. Unlike NaNoWriMo, NaBloPoMo makes it fun and doesn't kill artistic value. And unlike NaNoWriMo, I actually already blog every day (almost).

So if you look at the top of the right column, you'll see the NaBloPoMo (try saying that five times real fast, sounds funny) badge. If you've stumbled onto this blog and have one of your own, you should attempt it. It might just be your cup of tea.

Hipsters are the new douche bags

"Let's just jump the fucking fence," the tiny hipster girl says as the group of three stroll by me. The fence she's talking about is the back exit, which is still locked even though I'm supposed to be guarding it as Beer Bouncer.

I'm surprised that they even go to the baseball games; don't they normally just lounge around pretending not to have money and not to care about anything else? And it's not because it's Thirsty Thursday, because they're way too young to even pass off as anything but 14.

I'm not going to pretend to know what a hipster's into, because when I was a kid - which is beginning to feel like a long time ago - a hipster was an old man who pretended he was still hip and young. Now, after looking up the definition, it's a rich kid who likes to dress poor and all his/her money comes from mommy and daddy. Man, how things change.

And they're not the only ones who attend, there are others who pass me by in the parking lot, pretending not to have the two-dollar toll, yet drive around in a fancy Jag or some other imported car that they probably got the same day as they did their license. It's not taken care of, however, to give it that "authentic" look of being riches to rags.

But their clothes give them away. They're boots and Converse might be from ropa usada (a Valley term for used clothes stores), but their garments are from American Apparel. They reek of fashion faux pas (I'm one to speak), but pretend they're also individualistic - oh the irony! Sometimes, I feel like I should overcharge them when the come into the parking lot - them with their fancy automobiles with that layer of grim. I won't, but I do think about it.

Tolls, Horses & Other Anxieties

Once again, Estella had to come for me because the car is still at City Limits (a repair shop that is taking a sweet ass time fixing the problem). When arriving, Javi wasn't there and Estella had said that Fred wasn't going to be able to make it because of his work at the hospital. It looked like it was going to be me and maybe a girl. Impossible because it was Thirsty Thursday and those days are usually busy on all three lots.

Both Estella and I set up and I'm placed in lot 2 for the time being. My mother relieves me of my position to send me to lot 3, which upsets me because my mother doesn't know how to take tolls (it's not as easy as it seems and beginners usually struggle).

In lot 3, I take in 25 paying patrons and a few who slipped my radar. Because I've only been working at the stadium for two years (I started in 2007, wasn't hired in 2008 because the Coyotes were bastards and this is my second year), I don't know much about the history. So as we're picking up the horses, I ask Super how long it has been since parking 3 was only a dollar. His response was about five or so years. I grimace because every day there's one jerk who tells me otherwise.

As we're putting away the horses, Super asks me why it is I don't drive. I told him I was working on it, but it's mostly due to my anxiety problem. He sympathized, stating his oldest daughter has the same problem. It makes me feel good that I'm not alone in the world.

After putting the horses away, I head back to the bank to pick up my bags before going over to the covered area to "watch the game and relax" for a bit. What I wind up doing, however, was sit there and read Idoru by William Gibson. However, before leaving the bank, I sit there to take a breather and suck up some cool air. It was then that one of the bankers acknowledged who I am. Shocked that I'm the brother of a former RA's bartender, she states that I am nothing like him. The other banker recognizes the name and is also in awe. I like keeping my familial relations closeted. I never ever, under any circumstance, let others know whose little brother I am. I find life simpler that way.

At the end of the night, one of the ladies who works for the team was crying. Apparently, White Wings' coach is a douche bag who gets his kicks off cussing out young ladies. I'm sure his anger was fueled by the fact the teams almost started a brawl, sending one of our players out of the game. I still don't think that's reason to cuss out someone who was only doing her job. She spent her own money to provide them food, which he demanded her to take out of the box - "Get that shit out of here!" He also refused to reimburse her. It was no way to treat her and way out of line. I think I might heckle should I go in early.

Thirsty Thursday & Friday Night Firework Show

Today is going to be hell. I normally don't many patrons out in lot 3, but today is going to be hell. Every drunk will be plowing though, expecting me to have change for a twenty, a fifty, a hundred. I'll only have change for the first one, by the way, but after two cars, I'm pretty much out of change. According to the list, however, I'm supposed to be in lot 1.

Unlike lot 2, only a small amount of traffic sweeps through lot 1. It's still more than 3, but nevertheless, I won't be on my toes as much. The only back breaking about being in lot 1 is the sun. Lots 2 and 3 have an advantage: shade from the sun. 2 has palm trees lining it and 3 has the gym across the street that throws its shadow over the lot. 1 has nothing until the sun sets.

Dollar beer night is the worse, but tomorrow we're going to have complaints galore. Friday Night Firework Show starts after the game. Bossman has already expressed (not to us, but to those above us) that there will be no free parking. Meaning, even though we're going to be done at about 8:30, we're going to continue to stand at our positions to collect money. This causes the problem of an angry mob of patrons wailing down on innocent Parking Lot Nazis. It's something I'm not looking forward to.

It also shows the bad logic possessed by those in charge: Just because we have hold of half the parking lot, doesn't mean there will be no free parking. Lot 3 is University property which we have control over during home games and events. Problem is, lot 3 is only half of a much larger parking lot. We cannot charge anyone who parks on the other side. Even though he says he doesn't want anyone to park for free, doesn't mean it's not going to happen.

Here's to the night!

Last Minute Request & a Foul Ball

Super called me last minute, asking if I could go in. Tim was out of town and Fred had already worked on extra game. I was next on the list. I didn't have a ride so he sent Estella over to get me. On her way, she looked for my mother who had taken off walking earlier. No sign. Luckily, when we arrived, we learned that mother had arrived safely. It's a wonder where I get it from, these sudden urges to something insane and/or stupid.

The "horses" were placed up already so I just walked over to lot 3 and took my place. Typical Wednesday, it was slow and annoying. I called Jyg to tell her I had gone in so she wouldn't go to the house to visit and find me not there. Time moved slowly. Finally, around 8:30/8:40, Estella called me in and I walked back to the stadium, gave the tickets and cash to the banker, got it counted and initialed out. I knew I was going to stick around to pick up the "horses" so I awaited Javi to get out from lot 2. After he did, I went to talk to Super about picking up the stuff so we could check out. He finally came out and started talking to the girl who was on lot 1 and the girl on tickets. Javi stood talking to his girlfriend when the announcer called out a foul ball.

Without much thinking or looking, I saw the ball sail over high, smack into the roof to our left and spit out forward. Quickly, I flinched backward saw the ball fly by my face and watched it hit the bank window and bounce off the wall only to roll out of the stadium, under the gate.

In that same instance, Javi let out a loud, "Whoa!" and cupped his shoulder. It was then that I realized in my perception of the foul ball flying passed my face, I lost it for a second as it hit Javi's shoulder. I'm not sure how bad it was, but Super thought he was in good enough shape to pick up the stuff, which he did, falling down after the first one. I was paranoid, to say the least, when we were riding on the bed of the truck. I thought the worse and was prepared to snatch him if he should decided (not really decide, obviously) to fall off.

As we left the stadium, having put away the materials, I noticed that his shoulder was slightly swelling. He even complained that his arm was going numb. The only thing he could feel was a tingle, like "spider legs walking all over it."

Theories and other Parking Lot Philosophies

There's a man who possesses the Baseball Parking Permit - a perk of purchasing season tickets - who parks in lot three. Back when I started working in 2007 for the Coyotes, he's been parking out in the distance. There are theories behind this, but nothing I'm too sure of:

1. The dangers of parking at the stadium (i.e. traffic, the occasional baseball through the windshield, people who don't know how to park, etc.)
2. He is health conscious and likes walking
3. He doesn't know any better.

He's a nice man, one I've nicknamed Buddy because I don't know his real name and he does look like one.

I don't know why it is, but several people who park in lot three get so bent out of shape. I understand, believe you me, that two dollars is a little too much for parking no where near the entrance. I also know how annoying it could be for students who arrived early in the day only to return to their cars to see that the other exits are blocked by our "horses." But don't blame the staff, don't blame anyone who can't help it.

I suppose that's another reason why I chose to name the blog "Confessions of a Parking Lot Nazi" rather than "....Parking Lot Philosopher" - the correlation between my, "I'm sorry, but I'm not in charge of the pricing," to the Nazi's "I only did what I was told to do." That and I'm hardly a philosopher.

I want to be calm with the patrons, despite how rude they can be. Not all of them are so bad and Bossman did state that we had to be polite to them because we're, of course, "the first people to greet them every game." But patience can run thin: I allow others to cuss me out under their breath for how unfair it is, but the moment they accuse me of stealing, then it's a whole other ballgame (no pun intended).

First of all, I wouldn't overcharge to pocket money - it's not in my nature. Sure, like most people, I've thought about it but thinking and doing are two different things, am I right? Secondly, I only (on average) sell about 7 tickets daily (except on Thirsty Thursdays, where I sell about 12). At two dollars a piece, I'll only be taking home $7. It's hardly a big whoop. That's not to mention I'm also horrible at math and the fact that I have to give change. None of the rude, accusing patrons think about that.

And that's why I like Buddy parking in lot 3, because rather than grimacing or cussing me out, he greets me every home game with a smile and a wave. And that, my absentee readers, is worth while.

Something's up with Jack

No one is appreciative anymore. I'm fully aware that with every sport pass time, hecklers will come out of the woodwork and place in their two cents. Like Super told me in the truck when we were picking up the barricades, "Opinions are like assholes: Everyone's got one and they stink." Hecklers, by the way, are the in-the-stadium Parking Lecturers (which I should've named them Parking Philosophers, but that's giving them way too much credit).

After I finished my shift at the parking, Super told me to stay behind so I can do gate work - this is when the parking lot Nazi becomes the Beer Bouncer (it's more like a reverse bouncer: Rather than keeping people out, I cannot let those with beer in the hand out of the stadium). Of course, they can't keep me on the clock and not do anything, so before the game is even close to ending, they have me on guard. I've already been Beer Bouncer once this week, but Super figure I could do it again, just for kicks. I later found out from Bossman that I'm being paid a flat rate - which means, all that over time I just put in doesn't mean jack shit because I'm going to get paid the same. However, that means if I clock in and then clock out an hour later, I'll be paid the same rate. It's a win/lose situation, if you think about it, but at least I still get paid even on days when I work two hours.

During my time on guard - I learned after work that I was supposed to make sure that kids don't get on top of the box(?) where the baseball players are - a foul ball soared over the fence and right over the light post (while it was soaring, I swore it was going to be one of those Hollywood moments when the ball smashes into the lights, sending a flurry of sparks down below). Either way, I moved out of the way only to notice a little tyke running passed me. Luckily for him (and for me, if you think about it), the ball smashed into the bar that was directly behind us.

During this period of time, I also noticed the highly annoying and very drunk hecklers who were shouting out into the field, demanding the players to do this and that: "Hit the ball!" "What's wrong with you? The ball hit him!" "Get him off the field." And this was coming from the same table. What really upset me was when the batter (of the offending team) smashed the ball right into the stomach (it was more like the kidneys) of the pitcher. Even from where I stood, I could tell that hurt. The drunk hecklers, on the other hand, started to call him a cry baby because, you know, they obviously could take a baseball to the gut.

So like I said, no one is appreciative. People love the fact that the baseball team is back and throw their money down to see them, but they're still in some sense demanding more. Baseball, unlike a movie, isn't something that is planned - it's all by chance, a 50/50 deal. And not only are they unappreciative toward the players, but those who actually put the game together - the staff who are only getting paid a flat rate.

You're welcome, you jerks.

This is what a good day feels like

I arrived later than usual (but not late) because the car died and Jyg dropped me off. When I walked into the stadium, I noticed that no one else was there. Super's truck was parked in the lot, but none of the other parking guys were there. After another eight minutes of solitude, I decided to enter head office to see if any of the guys were there. Instead, I found myself greeted by Bossman who was still on my bad side because of how he treated my mother.

I told him I was there because no one else was outside and I was curious who was scheduled for the day. Fred was on schedule and a girl whose name I forgot - she used to be in promotion (meaning, if there was something being given away for free, she was there giving it away). Bossman said to give him another few minutes, and Super added that Fred was coming in a little late. Super and I wound up setting up the barriers.

After set up, I met the girl who would be taking parking one and I told Super because Fred was running late, I'd take his place. Anyway, parking three would be slow today anyway. Fred could have it when he got there (which he later did and told me he didn't understand how I can hack it - "It's boring and they complain too much.")

So, for today, I graduated to parking two, which was packed. I sold fifty tickets, bringing in a total of $150.

While in parking two, I was nearly hit by a giggling girl. Annoyance comes in a single question: "Was I supposed to stop?" I told Super earlier that people don't stop when they see someone standing on the road, which is why we take cones with us. The orange cone triggers something in the human psyche that flashes stop in their minds. Super used the cones to block off a part of the lot where only one blockade was placed.

Later, another woman came by and complained that we charged too much (an old man did the same, but his story's lame) and she was spending a lot of money just to see her husband play (he's number 13 and kept fouling and striking out). Apparently, other stadiums only charge a dollar to park. She ended her diatribe with, "And you all don't even pay him that much."

We all don't pay him. The team's management pays him. If you want to lodge a complaint about your husband's pay check and the toll price, take it up with them, not the lowly parking lot Nazi.

Another couple drove up later and were astounded at the high price:

Man: Three dollars?!
Woman: Nah. You just wanna pocket the dollar.

That sort of accusation annoys me. I know that I would've made $50 if I overcharged, but the truth is, I'm actually a nice guy despite my cynical attitude. I don't believe in screwing over the working class.

But the thing that really made my day was the honesty. During the rush, I got two people (probably four cars apart) who told me their significant others had their wallets. One of them told me his girlfriend had it and that he would go get it and would come back and pay me. The one that followed, a father of a child under one, gave me a similar story: "My wallet's in my wife's car. If you let me in, I'll come back and pay you."

I didn't expect to see either of them, and I was half right. The father came back, apologize for taking too long and said he was worried that I was probably already thinking that he wasn't coming back. I told him that I was amazed by his honesty, a virtue I never see anymore.

I doubt you're reading this, sir, but you did make my day. Thank you.