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.

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.

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.