Of Friendship and Betrayal

There's a Middle Eastern parking attendant in the lot across the street from my work building. I drive to work a couple days a week, and have parked there, lo these many moons. Well, I found out a month or two ago that as long as I get to work before 9 (which I always do) it's actually 50 cents cheaper to park at Louisville Gardens, which also has the benefit of being a garage. And it's just as close, so I've been parking there.



But I miss my little Middle Eastern parking attendant. He talks like Sayid from "Lost." And he smiles and makes a little chit-chat when I pull in. "How are you doing? ... Coming in a little later this morning, I see ... I cannot get used to these Lou-eee-ville weathers, my friend..."



It's just a machine at Louisville Gardens.



I feel like Sayid and I had a connection. We were sort of like David and Jonathan -- Sayid and I. There was something there. And I have sold out my little Iraqi-Arabian-whatever parking attendant brother for 50 cents and an enclosed garage.



Oh, sure ... I could go back to him now. Back to Sayid. And he would say "Where have you been, my friend? I haven't seen you these many weeks."



And I could mutter something about being sick, or down in Florida, or on the TARC bus. But he would know. Sayid would know. There would be a slight modulation in my voice, a lowering of the eyes ... and in that instant he would see into my soul and realize that I had exchanged our camaraderie for an automated ticket-punch machine.



I am, of all men, most miserable.