Spar Wars

Every day for 15 years I swipe my parking Thing-a-Ma-Jiggy into the university parking garage drive up What-Ja-Ma-Call-It, to enter and leave when parking my car. It's a routine I could do in my sleep.

Today I was leaving work, and swiped that card as usual. It took me a few seconds to realize, it didn't work. I waited for the Barrier Gizmo to rise up and let me out. Nothing happened. It's embarrassing how long I waited before I realized this. Apparently I sleep leaving work just like when I arrive. So, I tried it again. Nada. One more time, I thought. Just in case I'm having a stroke or something.

Just then I saw that the parking attendant was in his little ... place. Space? What on earth do they call that area where they sit? To call it a room is way too luxurious. An office? Well, that seems ridiculously lofty.

 

Anyway, I drive the car forward a whopping five inches. Now I can speak to this man. I am struck with how we are suddenly very similar. He is sitting in his small box space surrounded by windows and so am I. I have never had this revelation before. We both slide and glide our windows open. It's like really boring choreography for robots.

"Excuse me!" I have clearly interrupted him as it looks like he was reading a book. "Sir? My parking thing won't work. Can you help me?" He takes a big sigh, and he even throws in a small huff at the end. He puts the book down slowly and gets onto his computer. I've clearly interrupted a good chapter. A few clicks, and it seems he has found my problem, "Mam, did you take a ticket this morning when you came in?" "No." He gives me a very exasperated look. "Why not?" he questions. "Well, now...why would I do that? I am an employee. I don't pay daily as I have this parking ...thing. I pay $300 a year for this and I have used it every day for the past 15 years!"

I now realize I am giving him way too much information and I am coming across as being annoyed. He just asked me a simple question...surely I can work on being nicer. "Why do you ask?" I muster, and I throw in a small smile. "Well, Mam, this shows that your car has been here all night." Silence. I laugh. He doesn't. He's serious. "Hah! That's funny. Well, that surely didn't happen!" "Well, Mam, my computer says it did." "Well, your computer is wrong." "No, Mam: Your car has been here all night." I hate it when people call me Mam and somehow I think this guy knows it. "SIR: You are incorrect. I went home with my car last night. After work, and I used this parking ..thingee... in this meter slide thing here.. to get out and that is NOW not working!" This could easily become a new sport: People sparring from inside glass boxes. The car team would never win. It's a forever block.

So what do I do? What every parent does when their child won't do what they want. I resorted to "the look." I just stopped and stared at him with every inch of my age. I am a "Mam" after all and can use it when needed I guess. He sighs loudly, shakes his head and presses the magic button that lifts up the barrier to let me out. I am free! Well, philosophically, I think we just learned neither of us is free.