I Work at a Parking Garage. There are 5 STRANGE RULES

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My name is Perry, and I have worked at Hal's Parking Garage for four years. I work nights from 8 in the evening until 6 in the morning. Most of the job is exactly what you'd expect. I hand out parking tickets, watch the cameras, and collect the tickets when people leave. When somebody forgets where they parked, I help them find their car. The garage stands between an office building and a row of restaurants. It has 12 public parking floors, a closed 13th floor, and a basement. A ramp connects the public floors. The elevator serves the whole building while the stairs stop at 12 My booth sits on the ground floor between the entrance and exit lanes with windows on all four sides. During the day, people pay to park. After 6 in the evening, parking is free. Hal still makes everyone take a ticket on the way in and return it on the way out. The entrance machine prints them and the exit gate stays down until I collect them. Customers can come and go on foot while their cars are parked. When they finish using the garage, they return the ticket even if they leave their car behind and take a taxi. Hal owns the place and handles most of the repairs himself. He lives close by and often stays for part of my shift, especially on Saturdays. He's a heavy man in his sixties who wears plain work shirts and brings his coffee in a large steel flask. If he met him outside the garage, he'd probably take him for a retired mechanic. He keeps five rules posted beside the ticket machines and inside the elevator. There's another copy on the counter in my booth. The rules don't mention the speed limit or where to leave a shopping cart. Hal showed me those things separately when he hired me. He made sure I understood the five rules before he let me work alone. Last Saturday, I arrived at eight and found him replacing a bulb above the exit. The restaurants were busy and a concert in a nearby theater had filled most of the lower floors. Cars moved slowly up the ramp while people walked toward the pedestrian door. I put my lunch in the booth's small refrigerator and check the cameras.

Ah, the gate's working, Hal told me when he came down from his ladder. Keep an eye on people following each other out. They get impatient when a concert finishes. Yeah, I'll make him stop. I began. You fill the water bowls?

I left that for you, Hal began. Clyde's been sitting beside them since dinner. He seems to think an empty bowl is a personal insult.

Clyde was an orange stray, with a bent ear and white feet. He slept near the booth where the concrete stayed dry. There were other cats in the building, but Clyde was the only one I'd named. I bought him food and left fresh water where passing tires couldn't reach it. He usually followed me while I filled his bowls.

That evening, I set the water down and watched him drink. Hal put his ladder away, then brought a chair into the booth. I opened the window facing the exit lane and laid a stack of collected tickets in the drawer. Outside, people stood beneath the restaurant awnings, waiting for tables. For the next hour, I watched cars and listened to Hal work through his coffee.

Rule 1 Always turn in your ticket.

The first problem began with a man in a blue sedan. He'd parked earlier that evening, and I saw him coming down the ramp just after nine. He had his phone against his ear, and his ticket resting between two fingers on the steering wheel. There was a white van ahead of him. Its driver handed me a ticket, waited for the arm to rise, and pulled away. The sedan moved right behind it. I leaned out of the window and held up my hand, but the man was looking toward the street. He passed the booth without stopping. I pressed the gate button, although I knew the safety sensor wouldn't let the arm come down on his roof. His back tires crossed the white line at the garage exit before the arm lowered.

I watched him turn right out of the street. He drove past the first restaurant and disappeared beyond the edge of my window. The street camera showed him going through the traffic light with the rest of the cars. I could still see people on the sidewalk. Nothing happened to them when he passed. Hal had been cleaning the lid of his flask at the sink. I told him what had happened and pointed to the empty exit lane. He drew out his hands, came to the window, and checked the street camera. Then he stayed beside me instead of returning to his chair. We both watched the corner where the sedan had gone. He kept his ticket, and I saw it in his hand, I said.