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April 8, 2008

My parking garage attendant either has a crush on me or is plotting to kill me

Parking Garage Guy has sandy blond hair, chubby cheeks and prefers windjackets and the occasional baseball cap as garb. He seems to be in his late teens or early twenties, and is about 5'9'' from what I can tell (he's usually seated or leaning out his window). Please give this description to the authorities when the begin their inquest into who has buried a piece of my mangled flesh at every mile marker along I-35.

He's the type of guy who spends hours in his basement making YouTube videos of his light saber skills, the lovable weirdo who would burst into uncontrollable giggles with his buddies when teachers asked the class to turn to page 69, the overgrown pre-teen whose every Halloween costume involves a cape.

Our relations started innocently enough. At the end of my workday I would roll up to his station in my mom's battered minivan and we'd exchange pleasantries about the weather (me: Sure is frigid out! him: Yeah, my nose is full of booger-sicles), innovations in currency (me: Whoa-- the "5" is all huge and purple now. him: I could totally counterfeit that) and life events (me: Did you have a good weekend? him: Shyeah! Me and my friends head-butted each other's stomachs til we puked!).

His behavior has gotten more bizarre recently. Instead of saying something random and making me laugh, he's nervously repeated the same inquiry at least five times over the course of a few weeks:

Him: Do you need a receipt?
Me: No thank you.
Him: So why is it that you work downtown and stay here all day and never need a receipt? Don't you get reimbursed?
Me: No. Like I said, I work at the paper. They don't even have money to keep us all in a job. They're not going to pay for extras like parking.
Him: I think that's so lame.
Me: I know. That's what you thought the other four times we've had this conversation.

Last week, when I pulled up to his station he was pointing his opened phone at my face and grinning. I asked if he was taking a picture of me. "That's what they all ask," he replied. It's a natural thing to ask when there's a camera phone up in your grill, I said. He continued staring at his phone, smirking. Thoroughly creeped out, I put my ticket and the correct change on his ledge and got the heck out of Dodge. Lately he's taken to resting his chin in his hand and gazing at me, refusing to take my money and ticket until I say something to him. Then he pretends to have just woken up from a daydream.

I can only assume he's dreaming up ways to off me.


  1. AWESOME. I wanna meet him.

  2. Hitting on classy dames like you is intimidating. Yeah, he's a creep. But you don't make it easy on him, either.