"Parking Space" - Another complete short story from Tricky Times

32 tales with a tricky twist

Traffic was never that bad as a rule. My little Nova was nippy enough, but it didn’t fly over cars, lorries, buses and diversions in the middle of town.

So. Of course. By that time, the four parking spots outside the office were taken. First time ever. Never been before at this time, of course. But I’d allowed an hour extra more than my trial trip.

I stamped my foot— Oops, on the accelerator; checked my mascara, and considered my options for an emergency parking place.

The grass verge was out – it sported concrete blocks along the edge. So was the taxi rank – it had concrete-looking drivers standing chatting. And the Dropoffs Only bay was asking for trouble.

‘The pub yard, it’ll have to be,’ I told my Hula girl swinging off my mirror.

‘No bother. Plenty of spaces at this time.’

No wonder, the pub doors were only just opening.

‘The car park signs are a bit of a worry,’ I spoke with Hula Hattie as I manoeuvred into a spot. ‘Like that one. “No unauthorised parking”.

‘And that one, “Customers only”.

‘With, next to it, “Clamping in Operation”.

‘Not to mention, “CCTV cameras recording at all times”.

‘Oh, that’s the final nail, “Offenders are always prosecuted”.

‘Oh, well. Maybe they’ll let me pay for a bag of crisps, give me a receipt, and let me leave my car here while I dash for my interview. Hanratty Dentistry Technicals is only across the road.’

In I went.

Disaster from the off.

‘Sorry,’ says this guy from the dizzy heights of fifteen inches taller than me. ‘Not open yet, just sweeping out and warming up. Opening times are on the board over there. Come back, in a bit, eh?’

Six-foot-four, curly mop-haired, bright eyes and feigned-tragic smile. I was unimpressed. I pulled my genuinely aghast face. Looked at the clock. ‘Er.. urgh… eurrr…’ Hopped about at the knees.

Put his glass and towel on the bar, ‘I can put the coffee on. Be fifteen minutes—’

‘Can’t wait. I have three minutes to be over there.’ I waved outside.

He gave me his fait accompli look, like There it is. God’s decree.

‘B… b… b…’

‘Tell you what’, he said. ‘I’ll put the ’teria on, and you collect your coffee on your way back, huh? It’s all we serve the first hour.’

‘Yes! Yes How much?’

He made some mortgage-sized estimate.

‘How much!!!!???’

‘And you need to register on the car park machine, there, down the bar…

‘No, no, no…. I must be—’

‘Takes ten minutes for the machine to boot up, log in with Central and link into the cameras…

My hysterics were mounting.

He started wiping the bar down. It was alright for him – at six-foot-four; he was above all this Earthly stuff.

I was in Stage 2 of cry and wet yourself breakdown mode.

He stopped. ‘Calm yourself, young lady. ‘Just wait by the screen there to register your vehicle. Ten minutes… coffee won’t be much after that.’

My wail must have melted him. Deep sigh of surrender. ‘The Nova yours, is it? You go. I’ll book you on when it all comes live. Gimme the keys – we’re expecting the brewery delivery shortly. Might need to move it.’

‘Registration number’s on there,’ I tossed them to him, and had spun and fled in a swirl of tight skirt and high heels within the second.

My appointment at Technicals was running infuriatingly late. Taking their time interviewing the other applicants. Then mine over-ran, too.

They told us to wait. ‘We will consider now, and let you know in half-an-hour,’ they promised.

They did. Almost – their sense of time is like The Emperor Chronos in TimeGodz. Over an hour thinking about it!

I got the job!

‘We were rather stricken, Miss Harris. Anyone who is so breathless, hyped-up and inspired over a position with us, is off to an impressive start. Welcome to Hanratty’s.’

So, by the time I’d undergone a debrief, and agreed the arrangements for starting, I had overstayed my welcome at Stalag Nine Car Park by around two hours, with not a taste of alcohol or the sight of a receipt to show I’d bought something in the specified time in the pub.

Out of sheer embarrassment at my horrendous overstay, I was so sorely tempted to sneak away unseen.

But. He had my keys.

I hadn’t paid for anything.

I needed a receipt to prove I’d been a customer.

I craved a drink.

And my car had gone.

So. In I crept, sheepish as sales week at Edinburgh Woollen Mills.

Up to the bar. ‘Coo-ee? Can I have my keys, please?’

Six-four comes sauntering along behind the bar. ‘You’ve not had your drink yet. Or paid.’

‘Oh, er.’

‘Takes ten seconds.’ He was heading for the machine behind him,

‘Alright.’ I gave in so readily. ‘Double Irish Cream in it.’

‘Girl after my own heart.’

The drink was hot. Divine. Supremely welcome. He kept wandering past, the other side of the bar as he served a couple of other customers down the far end; then some who’d come and sat straight at tables. He said he’d only put a single in it, ‘if you’re driving.’

He was back as I finished it. ‘Nearly lunchtime – we do a mean LGBBT-Plus sandwich with fries?’

‘Er… Lettuce, Green Beans, Bacon? And, er, tomato? What’s the plus?’

‘Me. I’ll talk with you and let you have your keys back.’

He handed them over with the platter of everything, fries and mayo.

‘I left your car in the staff section – the delivery lorry has to turn round where you were parked. No cameras or charge there anyway. But here’s your ticket from the reg screen – you don’t actually have to purchase anything to register a vehicle.’

I have another appointment there. Tonight. Same bar. As much as everything to do with the parking and the coffee; and his cheeky, dancing smile; soft California brogue; and eyes to soak in – Six-Four is the first person ever to move my driver’s seat back to exactly where it had been.