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.

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?