Chronicles of a Parking Warden

Life as a Parking Warden

Why would I take this job you ask? It’s in the top four occupations with the biggest hate base. I don’t think anyone plans on being a parking warden. Well for me, the money per hour was tantalising, it was very flexible, and I worked alone, which meant I wasn’t monitored. So really, I could do as I pleased. Everything which gave me time and allowed me to focus on my career and dream.

I’d been working this gig for about three weeks, I always worked daytime as I wasn’t looking to bump into the car owners, I wasn’t looking for any arguments or confrontation. I was literally there to get money for doing as little as possible.

Usually I’m lenient, hoping the same good karma comes to me when I’m feeling to take the risk of leaving my car without a ticket and let’s face it who wants to feel like Randall from Recess.

The shift has begun and I’m on my patrols, strolling as slow as a sloth to kill time and I hear a piercing middle-aged voice from a distance, “What you doing? You done my car? Better not have.” After scanning around I finally registered where the voice was coming from. If, ‘I go to the pub for a cheeky pint after work every day’ had a visual representation it would be him. Slim build with what seemed to be a belly filled with too much Budweiser and Stella Artois. Anyway, I didn’t give him much recognition, ignored the car I assumed to be his and continued to patrol, Like I said, I’m no hero on the job, no confrontation means an easy day at work.

A few hours later, I pass the same car and the ticket has expired. I look to my left and right, without moving my head, solely my eyes. Coast clear, I’m giving this clown a ticket. Overstaying one hour and 30 minutes with a handful of attitude earned this man his ticket. As I begin walking away, I hear that piercing voice again, this time from above. The aggression was coming from the flats. The same guy from earlier. I see the window shut, which meant he was making his way downstairs. Which is my cue to quickly disperse from the area to avoid a situation.

Finally, my shift is finished. As I’m making my way back round to my car, which is parked a metre down the road from the near incident, I spot the SAME guy. Looking charged up, heated. Looking a lot more intimidating than our earlier encounters. He’s sitting on his bonnet, loitering impatiently. Waiting for the parking warden. Now it was clear, he looked crazy. The type to have a pint with his breakfast, maybe even use Stella instead of milk for his cereal. That type of crazy. All kinds of scenarios are running through my mind, all negative because let’s face it, he’s not looking to have a civil conversation as to why he’s received a ticket. So, I wait, stakeout hoping he’ll get tired of waiting and go back upstairs. While I wait, I’m mentally preparing for a potential scrap, mentally shadow boxing like I'm Floyd Mayweather. Self-defence of course. Fifteen minutes pass and his eagerness has faded, he gets up from his car bonnet and starts making his way back upstairs.

I slowly creep round and as the flat doors shut, I make the quick 30-meter dash to my car, no time for plugging the aux in. I make a swift three-point turn and make a quick getaway.

Was he even waiting for me? If he was, there’s no way on earth it was for a civil conversation. But personally, getting into fisticuffs for £12 an hour wasn’t my portion. Glad I gave that a miss. Moral of the story? Don’t be a parking warden.