The Parking Lot Attendant
The director of the zoo sat at his executive style desk and worked on the zoo's fund raiser dinner. As in years past, the seating arrangements for the tables had to be planned out - especially after the fiasco to name the new building that housed the coral reef exhibit. The utmost in prudence was to be employed to keep the social fabric of the room together until the night was over.
Once he assigned the guests their seats, he used his index finger and traced their most likely paths to and from the serving line and the bar. He rearranged who sat where, over and over, until the paths of feuding couples no longer crossed.
Outside his office he heard two voices, male and female, conversing in low and serious tones. When they stopped, there was a knock on the door and the assistant director walked in.
"What did you find?" the director asked, giving the assistant a quick look of acknowledgment over his reading glasses before he returned to his cartography duties.
"The people I spoke to at the city said they don't have an employee on their payroll who attends the parking lot. That property is owned by the trust that owns the zoo."
The director's wandering finger stopped wandering, and he looked over his reading glasses again, "Are you certain?", he asked him.
"There is no doubt of it. I went back to our records, again, and found this" the assistant replied and handed the director an official looking document, "This proves the trust has owned that plot of land for the last 92 years."
The director eyes widened as he slowly took the paper and placed it on his desk, "So, this attendant, who has not shown up for work yesterday, who is he? Where is he from?", he asked.
"No one seems to know." the assistant answered.
The director's look of surprise turned into one of disbelief and irritation.
"No one seems to know, that is impossible! Is there someone else here, one of the old timers, that knew this guy?" he demanded.
"Well, the head elephant handler has been here longer than anyone else, twenty-five years, he said he has always seen the same person in the booth; six days a week never spoke with him."
This last statemen made the director bolt out of his seat and check that no one was standing close enough to the door to listen to their conversation.
His expression had gone from disbelief and irritation to shear outrage as he grit his teeth, through up his hand and struggled to keep from shouting.
"There has been someone collecting our money over there for the last twenty-five years and we have no idea who he was or who he worked for? I refuse to believe that is even possible!" he stammered.
"It sure looks that way, amazingly enough. No doubt about it." The assistant director replied calmly.
The director sat back at his desk and did a few computations on his adding machine. When he was done, he threw up his arms again and shook his head in disbelief, "If he was collecting the going rate of $12 a car for six days a week, 52 weeks a year, for 25 years, he would have collected over $4,086,000. That does not even include the fee for buses. If the zoo does not have this money, then we can assume it was his income. His income was $187,200 a year, possibly tax free, for parking cars!" he said.
"Twenty-five years working the same job and no one even knows your name. Then, you disappear like a cold war era spy. Amazing." the assistant director replied.
The director's hand flew into the air for a third time and in an angry whisper he retorted, "Is that what you're taking away from this? A passed over, low level, parking lot attendant has made off with four million dollars of the zoo's money and that is what you're taking away from this?"
"I am more fascinated by the man then the amount of money he made off with." the assistant went on, still unbothered by the situation, "No matter how we look at it the money is not coming back. Even if this guy is caught, he probably spent most of it. Do you recall that city treasure up in Dixon - expensive cars, thorough-breed horses, a sprawling farm to raise them on. The city had a hell of a time clawing back any of it."
The director narrowed his eyes at his assistant then paced around the desk a few times grumbling to himself.
"I also remember that a few, high level city employees got into hot water over that too." he said sharply and acknowledged his insinuation with a raised eyebrow and a nod of his hear, "This little mystery does not leave this room. Understood? We have good jobs, better than most and I don't think we want to get fired from them- or worse."
"Not a word sir, not a word." the assistant replied then glanced at his watch, "I have a meeting with Hal in food service. I better get down there before he opens up."
After the assistant director hastily left, the director walked over to the window and looked down on the empty parking lot.
"4.68 million dollars and we don't know his name." he said remorsefully and though how he could dance around it at a future job interview, if the unfortunate situation arose.
The intercom tone from his desk phone sounded. He ignored it for a few rings then relented to its annoying buzzing.
"Yes." he answered curtly to his secretary.
"You have a call on hold. Vincent Lagard?" she replied.
The director thought for a moment, but it was not familiar.
"Never heard of him. Take a message!" he barked.
"He said it is important and would like to speak with you.", the secretary replied meekly, realizing from the director's tone of voice that he was now in a sour mood from the meeting.
"Why should I talk to him, or anyone else for that matter?", he asked loudly, "As a matter of fact, no more calls for the rest of the day!"
"But Mr. Feilds, he is the former parking lot attendant."
Thanks for reading!
Prairie Beacon 