The Inevitable Key

After work yesterday (roughly around 11:30am), I came home to a blinking red light on my AT&T router box thingie meaning I had no access to the Internet. Normally this means the software decided to update without actually installing, but yesterday, Explorer told me there was a connection problem. I did what any guy would do and I picked up the phone to call AT&T because I was tired and I didn’t want to trial and error. I click on and hear nothing. No dial tone. Fuck. The phone is disconnected. Only it’s not. It’s still in service, it’s just not working.

Fuck. I check my grandmother’s house (next door) and dial tone. Why am I the only one singled out? So I walked to the back yard to check the box and see if anyone shithead teenager decided to pull a prank and that’s when I see the orange plastic barrier in the alley. So I walk toward the alley and see a fucking hole in the ground. Someone severed my phone line. By this time, I had already contacted AT&T via my cell phone. They told me that the line would be up by today.

This morning, I called the stadium manager to tell him I wasn’t going to be able to make it in, telling him (in short) my situation and how I was waiting for the technician so I can ask him who was responsible for my situation. When the manager called me back, he told me that it was all right (I did everything I needed to yesterday and today would’ve been just busy work). I had the day off until my supervisor called me to tell me I had to be in today because the team was having early practice and I needed to wash their clothes, which I quickly added that until he teaches me how to handle their uniforms, I didn’t want to wash anything because I was afraid I’d ruin them someway and didn’t want that riding on my head. He agreed and would teach me later, but if I can still go in and take inventory. I counted the most important things: towels and hangers. Because I was already there, I called him to tell him I’d be washing a few of the towels, but because I didn’t have the clubhouse keys, I had to borrow the stadium key, which belongs to the manager. If we were to stay, I had to acquire the clubhouse key from the team manager. When I told the stadium manager that my supervisor wanted the key, he called the team manager to bring him the keys.

The team manager did bring the key, but only left the one for the home team clubhouse, but we’re in the visitor clubhouse because the university is still in the home team clubhouse (this gets redundant). So in the end, I stayed with the stadium key, which I had to turn in by five because that’s when the manager leaves. I called my super and told him this. I also told him this meant I was going home before five because I had to return the key back. He responded okay.

When I got home, I called him to tell him that I’d left the number of towels and hangers on the clean towels, which I left on the dryer. Then I told him, again, why I had left. His response, “You gave the key back to him?”

“Yes. It was his key. [Team Manager] only left us the home team key which wasn’t any good to us because we’re not in there. He kept the visitor’s key.”

“What key did you use?”

“The stadium key.”

“And what did you do with the key [Team Manager] gave you?”

“I gave it back to [Stadium Manager].”

“You gave him the key?”

“Yes, but it wasn’t for the clubhouse we’re in. It’s for the home team clubhouse.”

“So what key did you use?”

“[Stadium Manager]’s key.”

“And you did what with the key?”

“I gave it back to him.”

“Why? We need that for the morning.”

“But [Team Manager] has the clubhouse key so he’s going to be the one to unlock the door.”

“Did you wash their clothes?”

“No, you said you were going to show me.”

“Why did you leave?”

“Because I had to return the key.”

“Why did you return the key?”

Well, you see where this is going. So after a little while longer, he finally got what I meant. Which is all right, but I’m afraid that our communication is going to be something like this and that makes me a little iffy of how we’re going to get along. I’m known for quitting a job because of the way someone treats me. And my track record follows me, because of the previous team that was housed there. So…I don’t know. This is gonna be one hell of a year.

Ennui, the Red Shirt

I despise it when people mask apology as gratitude. Saying thank you every time you see someone working harder than everyone else isn't making them feel good about themselves - it's more likely annoying the shit out of them; well, if they're anything like me.

There was a mixer today, so a few of us were called in to work it - I was one of these people. I don't mind; I'm getting paid and the more special events I do, the better. Today, however, was just plain insane. I knew I was going to ice down the sodas - thankfully, Estela helped out with this, as did Melissa. The beer had been iced down earlier during the day as the bartender - Jose - set up his business. That was fine and dandy, I knew it was going to be like that. However, when the caterer came, we had to help her move the tables to a shaded area. Then she asked if we can help her unload. Melissa looked around for the guys who set up but the woman said they weren't with her - or weren't with her anymore at that moment. So we had to do it. Again, I expected to do things like this so I went along with it. 

There were four of us in the bar - that was more than we needed. One of us would be asked to do something else. Looking around - and coincidentally, I was wearing a red jersey - I knew I was going to be the guy they asked to do something else.

Later, Bossman told me to help the staff-less caterer and so I went, much to Melissa's taunting. While, annoyed at first - I don't like working with food - I started staring down at the trails, speaking with a few people and then to the caterer. She bought the company a couple of years ago. I told her my cousin, Damien, worked there once, but that was before her time. Staring at the spinach-artichoke dip that was set before me, I started to feel his absence again. In his honor, I tasted the dip I was against tasting when he was still with  us. 

The food was good and the night went on. When we started to pack up, I was in charge of taking things to the walk in freezer. I started with the sodas and waters. When I grabbed the second one, J asked me to help the caterer take things down. I told him I was busy, to which he said, "Well, after you're done." I have this rule - if you're not my supervisor or the person who signs my check, your needs go at the bottom of list. I still had to put away the unopened sodas, the beer, throw out the trash, and take the tables back to storage - the caterer had to wait. Luckily for the both of us, someone came to help her. I don't mind doing things for J, don't think I'm an asshole, but really the other two aforementioned are at the top of the list. Even if I'm doing something for J, if they ask me something, I'm going to drop it and do their errand - not because I don't like J, but because I want to stay on their good side. 

The night went smoothly; I sustained no injuries. Now I look forward to the even coming up next month. Let's hope it's a good one.

Scooter Gang Returns

Well, we've been having problems with them since the beginning. It wasn't much a surprise that they'd eventually get caught. Bossman instructed Estella and I that the moment we see them, we escort them out. Estella found them first and of course they said they had tickets. She brought them to me, asked if I let them in already knowing what the answer was. When I said not, she called Bossman and he made sure to tell them not to return.

One of the little fuckers bravely threatened legal action by stating (as he was leaving), "I'm gonna call the cops." I laughed and repeated the threat to both my supers and they returned the laugh - "I hope he does. They're trespassing."

A while later, it was reported that the bastards started throwing rocks into the bull pin, hitting one of the players. Both Bossman and someone else chased after them and only caught one. The police were called and then the mother. Hopefully the little shits stay away from the ball park. But if they don't, we'll be waiting for them. First time's free, second time I'm sure legal action will be taken.

Wasteful

I've ignored this blog, not that anyone's reading. Is anyone's reading? I think half the time I'm keeping this record is because I want to write about work, but I also like to entertain people. Sadly, this isn't an entertainment blog - it's a blog about work. Go figure.

I think Bossman's thinking of cutting Brandon from the work list. Estella and he talked about it. Apparently, after him and Fred went to go pick up the barricades, Brandon said he was leaving. He signed out and left. Bossman said he didn't say for him to go and Estella sure as hell didn't either. This left Julie to do extra work at the gate. I couldn't relieve her as I've taken on clean up. The only thing keeping Bossman from axing Brandon is the fact we'll be short a guy.

I don't know how I feel about the guy. Half of me is annoyed by his constant bickering, the other half is apathetic.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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!

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.