The Fuehrer of the Parking Lot

Last Friday night, Diana and I went to see the Elders’ concert at a Catholic church in Lee’s Summit. Now, I’ll not name said church so that none of their lawyers will be able to come back later and sue me for libel, because this tale is far from complimentary.

It’s also true.

The Elders, if you don’t know, is an Irish-Rock band from Kansas City. That’s all I’ll say about them this time, though, because this tale isn’t about them. It’s about what happened before their concert.

The concert was part of a community festival that the church was having, so its parking lot was filled with booths of one sort or another and a large stage for concerts. This meant, of course, that visitors had to park elsewhere. There were two such areas, both being large, grassy fields nearby. One was the “VIP lot” where, for $5, one could park hiser vehicle and not have to walk all that far to the nearest junk food booth. The other was for the riff-raff and was free. Of course, the price was a considerably longer walk.

Being a good Scot – and a card-carrying member of the riff-raff – I turned right into the free parking rather than left.

It was like any such parking venue: citizen-volunteers in orange vests pointed one to another volunteer in an orange vest, who … I’m sure you get the picture. I followed the pointing fingers until there were no more to be seen. I saw an open slot and began to pull in. But, no, ‘twas not to be. Here’s where I met The Fuehrer.

A teenaged boy came running up to me as I was pulling into the slot and told me I couldn’t park there. I asked why, since it was an open slot and would block nothing. He said he didn’t know, but that “he’d” – pointing to a man some 100 yards or so farther on – said I couldn’t. I had to go to this man to be told where I could park. Neither of these two were visible when I first drove up.

Okay, it was a nuisance, but I did as I was told. I drove up to the older man, who just smiled and asked me how I was.

“Where do you want me to park?” I asked, already a bit irked and not really interested in exchanging pleasantries.

“Anywhere you’d like,” he said, innocence dripping from his voice.

“Wait a minute. I’d already chosen a spot, but you apparently didn’t like that. So, you tell me where to park.”

Again, the smile.

Finally, after a minute or two of silence, he said I could park “right there,” pointing to the end of the row where he was standing. Exasperated, I just parked and walked away.

He never gave me a reason for this display of petty power. I don’t think there was a reason, except a chance for him to feel like a man. The most aggravating thing about it – and the thing that really enraged me is that I saw another vehicle park in the exact spot I’d originally chosen – and the parking lot fuehrer at the end of the row said absolutely nothing about it. Nada. Zip.

I don’t know if this nazi idjit was associated with the church or not, although I suspect he was. Why else would he consent to voluntarily work in the car park? So, he’s probably a fine, upstanding member of the church. Probably goes to mass every week and piously prays for whatever they pray for … and screws people over so he can feel a rush of importance.

Do I blame the church? No. I blame the man. He’s obviously wanting for self-esteem, so feels it necessary to abuse what little authority he actually possesses. Other than that, hey, maybe he’s a good guy. Maybe he prays to his god and loves his family and his nation and may even pay his taxes – most of ‘em, anyway.

Doesn’t matter. He’s a fascist.