Parking Lot Epiphany
Monday, 19. January 2009, 07:20:26
The other day an episode from my past came up in coversation, one in which I'd had an epiphany. By epiphany, I mean an experience or realization that altered my perception permanently. And it happened in a parking lot.
The University of Washington has limited parking space so it charges for the privilege of using it. They have card readers that allow students to pay for parking with their ID cards, which are linked to their accounts. You swipe the card through the reader, and the gate rises to allow passage into the parking lot. Otherwise, you just pay with cash. Both are easy enough, but the ID card rate is about two-thirds the cash rate.
The readers weren't working that day. I had to turn around, drive to the bank, get some money, and drive back. This was on top of a frenetic schedule. Aggravation was waxing, and tolerance for frustration was waning.
Pulling up to the parking lot gate, it seemed that I was going to finish my last task for the day on time. Lo and behold, another car was pulled up to one of the card readers and going nowhere. The driver was swiping an ID card repeatedly. The gate was holding fast, refusing to budge. I pulled up to an adjacent gate, deposited a five dollar bill, got a dollar back, and saw the gate rise. Four dollars had slain the dragon of electronic adversity.
Pulling forward, I glanced in the rearview mirror to see the other car sitting right on my bumper. The mother and daughter in the car were going to try to follow me through the gate without paying. In the past, I'd have let it go. I've spent lots of time being way too nice, but that wasn't going to happen today. For the first time ever, I yelled at a stranger.
ME: Back up!
THEM: (giggle innocently, saying nothing)
(pause)
ME: (stare)
THEM: (stare back)
ME: (scowl)
THEM: (mouths agape with "don't you know how important we are?" look)
ME: (scowl with arms crossed)
THEM: (leaning out the window) The machine won't read my card, and we need to park.
ME: That's not my problem.
That last line was the epiphany: it's not my problem. It was the first time I'd said that to anybody. They were shocked that I'd refused to enable their illegal parking job. Apparently, though, they were above the law: they wrote down my car's license plate number.
I went about the rest of my day feeling good about work, but that outburst was a bit bothersome. I didn't feel guilty, but where had it come from? Since then, it's become clear: I'd had enough.
One thing, though, hasn't clarified with time: what were those two gonna do with my license plate number? Tell the cops?
The University of Washington has limited parking space so it charges for the privilege of using it. They have card readers that allow students to pay for parking with their ID cards, which are linked to their accounts. You swipe the card through the reader, and the gate rises to allow passage into the parking lot. Otherwise, you just pay with cash. Both are easy enough, but the ID card rate is about two-thirds the cash rate.
The readers weren't working that day. I had to turn around, drive to the bank, get some money, and drive back. This was on top of a frenetic schedule. Aggravation was waxing, and tolerance for frustration was waning.
Pulling up to the parking lot gate, it seemed that I was going to finish my last task for the day on time. Lo and behold, another car was pulled up to one of the card readers and going nowhere. The driver was swiping an ID card repeatedly. The gate was holding fast, refusing to budge. I pulled up to an adjacent gate, deposited a five dollar bill, got a dollar back, and saw the gate rise. Four dollars had slain the dragon of electronic adversity.
Pulling forward, I glanced in the rearview mirror to see the other car sitting right on my bumper. The mother and daughter in the car were going to try to follow me through the gate without paying. In the past, I'd have let it go. I've spent lots of time being way too nice, but that wasn't going to happen today. For the first time ever, I yelled at a stranger.
ME: Back up!
THEM: (giggle innocently, saying nothing)
(pause)
ME: (stare)
THEM: (stare back)
ME: (scowl)
THEM: (mouths agape with "don't you know how important we are?" look)
ME: (scowl with arms crossed)
THEM: (leaning out the window) The machine won't read my card, and we need to park.
ME: That's not my problem.
That last line was the epiphany: it's not my problem. It was the first time I'd said that to anybody. They were shocked that I'd refused to enable their illegal parking job. Apparently, though, they were above the law: they wrote down my car's license plate number.
I went about the rest of my day feeling good about work, but that outburst was a bit bothersome. I didn't feel guilty, but where had it come from? Since then, it's become clear: I'd had enough.
One thing, though, hasn't clarified with time: what were those two gonna do with my license plate number? Tell the cops?
WIDGETIZE
hungryghost # 19. January 2009, 16:38
Good on you. I would have done exactly the same thing...
rooooo # 19. January 2009, 17:37
* Or the UW simalcrum thereof.