The Parking Ticket

A Short Story

Fingers swept over the rough surface of a salt covered car. Which one is it gonna be? Scan, green. Nail scratched against red metallic paint. Was that a mark I left? Oh well, it should be able to get buffed out. Scan, green. Which one is it gonna be?

Cars zoomed next to me. Buildings sprung out from concrete sidewalks and up into infinity. People, dozens of people, walked in a hurry. Some carried briefcases, others carried coffees. None of them bothered to pay any attention to me. Scan, green. I was nothing more than an insect to most of them. Scan, red. My heart skipped a beat. I felt my cheeks grow warm as the dazzling sensation of blood flowing into them woke me with life.

It was showtime.

In front of me was a green car, one of the all-wheel drive sedans that people buy for weather just like this. The machine strapped to my belt started to buzz, vibrating against my thigh. I breathed deeply and soaked in the feeling of it all. At first I waited to tear it off. Perhaps the owner was about to arrive, just a few minutes later than anticipated. That’s all it took. You can learn a lot about a person by the reaction they let out at the sight of one of my tickets being set on their windshield, tucked delicately into place beneath plastic wipers. The reaction to me, yes me, making them pay thirty-five dollars to cover their violation. As if it wasn’t them who decided to break the rules.

A passerby scowled as I lifted up the windshield wiper, the only time any of them ever noticed me. Gently, so gently, I placed the orange ticket down and tucked it in, bidding it good night. “Sweet dreams.”

No one came out. Their expiration occurred six minutes ago and counting.

Moving to the next car, I waited, looked around, and saw nothing. Too bad. On mornings like that, I needed a good show. Boots crunched over black sleet and dirty snow. Thousands of people crossed my path and they all saw nothing. Less than nothing. Scan, green. Shucks. Where I walk, they all see no one. Except, of course, after they see the ticket.

Across the street, someone saw me. He was tall, skinny, with a black peacoat draped over him. In one hand was a grocery bag, in the other, the hand of a little girl. A toy bear was slung from her free hand. The man’s eyes darted from me to the green sedan. That warm feeling of blood in my face swarmed as I saw all color leaving his own. Face fell, shoulders slumped. He darted from me to the car, and me to the car once more. He knew. Black water sprayed up at them kicked up from passing cars, a teardrop left on the bear’s face.

When the light turned green, he jogged across, shoved his daughter into the backseat, and scanned the windshield. With a sigh, an arm reached out and grabbed my sleeping beauty. I waited for it—those first signs of muscles twitching, jaw clenching, ready to burst. One last breath, from him, as he looked at the ticket and back to me as I pretended to mind my own business doing my job down the block. I reveled in it. Scan, green.

He went in his car without uttering a single word, knowing he had broken the rules. Too bad, I was hoping for more. Nevertheless, he deserved a pass. Like I said, you can learn a lot about a person from how they react to a parking ticket.

Rounding a corner, and a corner, and some more, I was in a new neighborhood. The buildings were shorter, the people dressed sloppy. In a city like this, worlds and cultures were defined by the span of a few blocks. The people and the places so different, except for the shared notion that my kind was of a subset of species less than human. The one universal truth. Maybe there was something to that belief. Maybe I wasn’t human. A smile crossed my face, few things in life really bring us joy. The warm sun was high in the sky now, and the snow was turning into more dirty water by the second. Scan, green. Scan, green.

Down the block, all the way at the very end, was a black SUV parked two feet over the curb. In all likelihood, its owner thought they owned the entire block. Maybe they did. Maybe they’d be the one. I crossed the street in order to save that car for last.

There were Fords and Nissans. The English and the Germans. Dirty cars and clean. Broken cars and brand new, all depreciating in value as quick as my strides past them. Scan, green. Scan, green. Some cars were filled to the brim with junk, others dead empty. You can learn a lot about someone based on how they keep their cars.

I was approaching the black truck, only a few cars away. Scan, green. Scan, green. Scan, red.

Did I like my job? Who, like me, wouldn’t? I got to walk around all day in a city of many, a city of legends. I got to experience the city as it lived and breathed, a voyeur observing the masses who passed me by without a second thought. I wasn’t one of many, and I was certainly no legend. Not yet. I am one of the forgotten, one of the invisible. And for my purpose on this earth, I couldn’t ask for anything better.

I knew when I saw the truck that it would happen. Its owner had never even bothered paying the fee to begin with. There had never been an expiration set, not yet. I could see my reflection, minus any eyes, along the shiny black surface of the sleek German vehicle. Just a silhouette, a dark shape passing through. Maybe that’s all they see. The ticket printed and I tore it out of the machine. I froze, hearing it before it came out.

“Hey, asshole. What the hell are you doing?” It was a voice booming from behind. My chest tightened, butterflies. I always got the butterflies when it happened. I turned around, ticket held ever so gently in my hand. Unearthing from an espresso bar across the sidewalk and quickly approaching me was a short bald man in a sport jacket. His red-face showed nothing but anger. “Jerkoff, I asked you what the fuck are you doing.”

“My job.”

“I just parked two seconds ago. Give me a fucking break.” I could think of a few.

“I’ve been on this block for the past fifteen minutes. Your car parked over the curb was the first thing I noticed. I’m very sorry, but here you go.” I extended the ticket toward the man without letting him notice my gigantic smile.

“Why don’t you take that ticket and shove it up your fucking ass.” He grabbed it and crumbled it up, throwing it into a swirling puddle of black water.

“Have a great day, sir,” I said.

The man spit on the ground in front of me and stormed back into the espresso bar. One last “motherfucker” was shouted before the glass door was slammed and I was met once again by my own reflection. I could see the energy sparkling out of my eyes, the joy.

Bending over the puddle, my fingers dipped into dirty water and wrapped around the damp ticket. I squeezed it and felt the black water drain between my knuckles. Scan, green. Scan, green. I could barely contain my excitement. Like I said, a lot can be said about a person based on how they react to a parking ticket. For me, I’ve found it’s an excellent way to decide how to cull the herd, the undesirables, the bad people from this world. That was the only ticket I gave out that day, but it didn’t matter. In my hand, printed on the damp orange and white ticket, was the name and address of my next victim. Later, I’d ask him, “Was your life really worth that thirty-five dollars?”

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