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.

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.