Race (3 page)

I got off on my floor and was stopped by the front desk officer.
 

“What happened to you?
 
You’re all wet,” she said.

I shook myself slightly, like an animal coming out of a lake, but better.

“What happened?” she asked again.

“It’s a long story,” I said, wiping my hair, which was now pretty much dry.
 
“You wouldn’t want to hear it.”

“Try me,” Roberta
Collecci
said.
 

Roberta is in her late forties and has been with the force for twenty-two years.
 
She was looking at me with one-eyebrow raised.

We were alone.
 
I was cornered.
 
I had to make something up.
 
And fast.

I lowered my voice, like a broadcaster: “last night, after I left here, I was driving and minding my own business when I see I’m out of gas.
 
So I go into this gas station and park behind this Mazda.
 
This is when I see this one kid.”

“Just one?” she said.

I eyed her suspiciously, “Were you following me?” I cleared my throat and lowered my voice again.
 
“So this kid is sitting in his car while I’m pumping my gas, right.
 
I could see the kid look at me through his rear-view mirror.
  
He keeps staring.
  
Maybe my uniform made him nervous.
  
But I just keep pumping, when suddenly I see a second kid run out from inside.
 
He jumps into the Mazda and they drive off.
 
I knew something was wrong.
 
So I dropped everything and I chased after them.”

“You didn’t pay for your gas?” she said.

My eyes narrowed.
 
She was right. I didn’t pay for the gas
.
 

“I know the owner so it wasn’t a problem,” I said.

“The owner was certain it was your car that drove away—in pursuit—of the robbers?”

My eyes were now slits.
 
“You
were
following me, weren’t you? Anyways, the robbers realized I was following them so they started speeding, going through red lights, and changing lanes with no signals.
 
I did the same.
 
I had no choice.
  
I had to catch them. I drove like a demon.
 
This divine force had control over my body.”

She raised both her eyebrows.

“Deep, I know,” I said. “So, here I was changing lanes, crossing over, edging past minivans, waving at little children along the way.”
 

“You had time to wave?” she inquired.

“Yeah, but I always kept one hand on the steering wheel.
 
You know me, safety first.
  
Anyways, we did this for almost twenty minutes,
them
crisscrossing lanes and me in hot pursuit, until, luck would have it—they got onto the highway.
 
That that was my chance.
 
I
 
drove up straight beside them, swerved left and slammed into them, trying to push them to the side.”
 
I placed both of my hands on the desk and demonstrated my daring heroics. “I ended up shoving them to the side and arresting both of them.
 
My car is in the shop getting fixed.”

“You’re a hero,” she finally said.

Of course I was. No one appreciated me.

“They should give you a medal.”

“They should, but they won’t,” I shook my head as if I was being discriminated against repeatedly.
 
“Politics, bureaucracy, you know how it is.”

“So how much did they steal?” Roberta asked.
 

“Who?”

“The robbers.”

“Uh, lots.
 
I don’t know off the top of my head.
 
Maybe five hundred, maybe more.”

“So let me get this straight,” she started.
 
“You damaged your car—”

“—It was a piece of shit, anyways.”

“Risked countless lives, just for a couple of hundred dollars—”

“—It was probably in the thousands.
 
Definitely in the thousands.”

I took a big gulp.
 
She had me.

“Car towed again?” she said.

I lowered my head and whispered, “Yes.”

But she wasn’t done.
 
“Isn’t it ironic the person who gets other people’s cars towed has his own car towed?
 
Tragic.”

“Not for long.” I smiled.
 
“If the Sergeant listens to me I’ll be out of Parking Enforcement as soon as permitted.”

“Jonny, you keep bugging him. Sooner or later it will happen.
 
Now back to work, hero boy.”
 
She smiled.

Roberta
Collecci
was like my guardian.
 
She had taken the responsibility—a very hefty one, if I may say so, to watch over me.
 
She kept me out of trouble.

***

I decided to meet the Staff Sergeant, but first, I needed to get dry.
 
My light navy blue shirt had dark blue patches all over.
 
I headed for the men’s washroom and inside allowed the hand dryers to blow over my body.
 

It was surprising for some to enter the washroom and see me dancing sensually in front of the dryers.
 
I just smiled and they quickly left.

When I was all dried off I stood in front of the mirrors.
  
My shirt was back to its original
colour
.
 
My pants, which are black, stayed black but were more comfortable now.
 
I placed my cap on my head and took one last look at myself.
 
A handsome man looked back and grinned.
 
I was grinning, too.

Once ready I went through a set of doors and into a hall with rooms on either side.
 
Important people had offices here.
 
Not sure why I didn’t have one yet.
 
I stopped and tenderly tapped at the glass beside the door.

“Come in,” said a voice.
 

I entered the office of Staff Sergeant James Motley, who was in charge of the Parking Enforcement Unit.
 

“Jon, come in,” he said. Motley was unlike the sergeants you see on television.
 
He did not have a belly, did not smoke a cigar, and he hardly ever swore.
 
There was a book on spirituality sitting to the side, and last week he was reading Native history.

How he ended up at PEU, I don’t know.

“Sir, have you ever thought about watching those cop shows?” I said, standing.

“Jon, what can I do for you?” he said.

“It’s about any openings…” I let my words trail.

Motley did not look surprised or interested.
 
He knew I wanted to move on and gain other experiences.

“Yes, I know, Jon.
 
You have asked me six times this week and today is Tuesday.”

“Tuesday?” I said, looking around.
 
“Time drags.”

Don’t get me wrong.
 
I liked being a PEO but I felt I could better serve society if I were a detective or a lieutenant.
 
Maybe even a commando, but that would mean joining the army.
  
Discipline, hard work, and respecting authority were not my strong points.
 
So the army was out.

What about the navy? No, water equals sharks.
 
Sharks equal missing limbs.
 

How about the air force? No, flying equals gravity.
 
Gravity equals falling thousands of feet to your death.

Parking Enforcement?
 
Hmmm, now that’s something I could do.
 
Wait a minute? I was already doing it.
 
           

Motley leaned back in his chair and said, “Jon, I have my eyes open, you know that.”
      

“I just thought,
y’know
, I’d remind you.”

“If it were up to me, I’d have you transferred immediately.” He gave a short smile.

“Thank you, sir,” I said, about to leave.

“Jon.”

I stopped.
 
“Sir?”

“If and when something does come up, you’ll be the first to know.
 
I promise.”

That was the Sergeant’s polite way of saying “don’t call me, I’ll call you.”

“Thank you,” I replied.

***

I went down to the parking lot to retrieve my marked cruiser, a Dodge Neon parked in the corner.
 
It was white with blue and red stripes across the sides.
 
It had the words ‘TO SERVE AND PROTECT WORKING WITH THE COMMUNITY’ on the side doors, and ‘PARKING ENFORCEMENT’ on both front sides.

I eased the cruiser out from the parking lot and headed in the direction of my route.
 
This may be a good time to explain what I do.
 
I know, I know, most people think we, PEOs, just go around giving parking tickets.
 
That’s somewhat correct.
 
We do give a Parking Infraction Notice or PIN whenever a vehicle is illegally parked, but that’s not all we do.
 
We help keep the streets safe and clean.
 

How?
 
Whenever someone is walking around and they see a uniformed officer, be it a traffic cop, or even security guard, they do try to be on their best
behaviour
.
  
Right?

If someone is about to commit a crime or is thinking about it, he or she will, at least, think twice if they see us driving by.
 
We help deter crimes.

Not just that; without us the city would not move.
 
Think about it.
 
Why would anyone want to move their car if they didn’t have to?
 
They could just park and leave it for the entire day.
 
Imagine if someone had to take their grandmother to the doctor for a checkup after she'd had a hip replacement and they couldn’t park anywhere because some jerk parked his car on the street and gone to work.
 
Now imagine if they had to park two blocks away and carry their dear old grandmother just because there was no turnover of parked cars.
   
Now wouldn’t they be pissed off?
 

Our main job is to keep traffic flowing.

I parked behind a row of parked cars and pulled out my little black book.
 

I checked the first meter: seventeen minutes left.

Second: three minutes.
 
I should see the owner any time soon.

Third: Fourteen minutes.

Fifth: Expired.
 
Oh, goody.
 
On the ticket I wrote down the date of infraction, time of infraction, license plate number, vehicle plate, checked off box with code number one, placed my signature at the bottom, entered the unit and employee code, and gently placed the banana-
coloured
ticket under the windshield.

Sixth: No fee deposited.
 
Good, another one.

Seventh: fifty-two minutes left.
 

Eighth: broken meter.
 
I wrote a fifteen-dollar ticket.
 

Whoa! The meter is broken! The owner should not have to pay for the ticket, right?
 
Wrong.
 
Parking at a busted meter is illegal.
 

Some people tamper with meters on purpose in order to avoid paying the fee.
 
It’s quite easy to sabotage a meter.
 
It can be done with a piece of paper, by jamming the mechanism and fishing out the parking fee with a paper clip.
 
But I’m not going to say exactly how.