Time Is Fine-ite

I used to be a parking attendant in a seafront car park for a council contractor — one of those folks you shout “get a real job” at, you know.

Summertime on the seafront was hellish — hot with surprisingly little wind, snaking between lanes of parked cars checking for pay-and-display tickets.

The job itself wasn’t tough. I had a handheld computer, a waist-mounted printer, and a holdall of sticky yellow bags, and I just had to type, print, bag, and stick. Parked cars, easy. Parked brains, less so.

Working in pairs for “safety”, we trundled through the overflowing car park, handing out fines and helpful tourist advice in equal measure. This was fortunate, as one of our “customers” turned up to shout at us.

Customer: “Why have I gotten this fine?!”

Me: “You were late back to your car, sir.”

Customer: “So what? I was only two hours late. You should show some patience.”