The Parking Lot Attendant
A week before Christmas he read that a winter storm was headed his way. Eight to ten inches of snow would fall before the clash of cold air from the north, and warm moist air from the south, would move out to wreak havoc in the east.
The day before the storm, he took the bus in early and stopped at a coffee shop down the street from the lot. He had to wait ten minutes for an elderly woman to finish her call before he could use the phone. He sat down in the dark booth and slid the folding door shut which switched on an overhead light and a fan. The cloying scent of cheap, lilac perfume, mixed with the stall smell of old cigarette butts, filled the cramped space with a suffocating atmosphere the rattling little fan was helpless to evacuate. 'Do astronauts go through this in their space capsules, sea captains in their submarines?' he groused as he took out the heavy phone book and looked for snow removal in the yellow pages.
He had never inhaled cigarette smoke before, or in his childhood, had he been hugged too long by an ancient, adoring aunt doused in cheap perfume. He refused to take in another breath of air as he franticly dialed the first number he found.
The raspy voice of the man on the other end of the line said he could fit him into his schedule. Without asking what it would cost he said OK, and bolted from the booth leaving the hand set dangling on its cord.
The morning after the storm the sun was bright, and the air filled with the muffled sound of the lumbering traffic and the occasional rhythmic clank of tire chains hitting the slushy pavement. The buildings and parked cars up and down Main Street were sporting a thick, puffy layer of snow. He smiled imaging they were wearing thick knitted scarves, woolen hats and coats. The parking lot was a pure, white square of glittering snowflakes. He staired at it the entire time he waited for the plow man.
When the lot was plowed, he paid the driver in cash from the box. The moment the truck was out of sight he realized he did not ask the man in the flannel shirt for a receipt. To his surprise, several cars were pulling up to the booth. He quickly decided that collecting parking fees on a slow day was more important than running back to the coffee shop to call the plow man and get a receipt. He sat down on the stool and collected the fees.
When he was done, he put the receipt for the plowing on top of the ones for the detective novels he bought at the coffee shop. Management would understand the plowing was a necessary expense, even if the zoo was closed for the day but cars were still pulling up to park in the lot. How could they if it was covered over with snow?
When he attempted to close the draw holding the cash box he could not. The box and the draw were too full of money and receipts. Since the zoo was closed, he would have to deposit the money in his personal account for safe keeping. Though the draw had a lock to secure it, the door of the booth did not. After returning from the bank, he put the deposit slip in the cash box and settled into reading the detective novel.
When the windy weather of March arrived, the stool he sat on in the booth finally broke. It was a flimsy affair that had been rocking back and forth on a loose leg for weeks. It bothered him that the most used item in the booth was of such cheap quality, not to mention it was as uncomfortable as the ones he sat on in shop class. 'How could he perform his job if he had nowhere to sit?' he thought. Then he thought a little more on the matter - if that rickety old metal stool allowed him to do his work, a chair would vastly improve his work. A decent chair could be easily afforded compared to the size of the weekly receipts.
He waited for the lot to fill up then walked over to the office supply store and purchased the best, Orthopedic approved, office chair they offered. It had a leather seat with ample cushions, and a sturdy frame made of aircraft grade aluminum in a stylish brushed finished and a set of smooth rolling metal casters with the same finish. Since it was on sale for 30% off, he spent the money he saved on a fancy pen for doing cross word puzzles in the newspapers he now had delivered each day. When he arrived at home that night, he realized he had the receipt in his pocket. He laid it on the stack of junk mail on the kitchen table. Eventual it made its' way into the trash.
To be continued.
Prairie Beacon 