Expired Meter
Derek V. Hunter
Regina never called that ninth night of waiting. Vernon stayed up until 3am, watching “Rush Hour 2” at 9pm, the 11 o’clock local news, then Jay Leno, then Jimmy Kimmel, then a few hours of a “Dukes of Hazard” marathon. He made a late night TV dinner in the middle of Jay Leno’s interview with Jesse Jackson. Vernon always thought Jackson misrepresented black folk. Vernon much preferred that one black judge on the Supreme Court, who he could never remember his name. But that was a black man he could be proud of. As Vernon watched the tuna casserole spin around inside the microwave, he thought about Regina. Why did she leave? Did she really think he was as possessive, jealous, and insecure as she said? So he hit her co-worker Brendon’s car with a baseball bat. He only hit it twice. That’s all. It wasn’t as if he hit Brendon with the bat.
Vernon reminded himself not to think about it too much. A person could get lost swimming around in thoughts. He knew he did nothing wrong and that was it. There was nothing more to do. She was supposed to come back. He had to stand his ground. His mother taught him to do that well. If you compromise, that shows weakness, and it turns the other person off. Weakness isn’t attractive. Regina will see his strength and come back.
The next morning and Regina still hadn’t called. He was sure by the tenth day she’d call. That’s okay, he thought to himself as he put on his parking enforcement uniform. She’ll come back. He needed to stop worrying.
Once his uniform was on and he was ready to go, he noticed a car in his neighborhood was parked in a red zone. If only he had his parking enforcement vehicle and ticket machine ... he’d give that god-damn car a ticket. Didn’t people care about the Law? Were people really always that reckless? Did they look at what they were doing and not care? Or did they have no clue? He couldn’t give this car a ticket. He could remind this driver, though, just how irresponsible this was. A red zone. Vernon went back to his apartment, found a pen and paper, then wrote a note to the driver. Outside, he put the note on the car’s windshield, wishing it was a ticket. The note read,
“You’re lucky I wasn’t on duty when I found your vehicle parked in the red zone. This irresponsible action of yours could’ve cost you $60. I don’t know about you, but $60 is a lot of money to me. Think about what you’re doing the next time you park your car.”
The rest of the day was horrible for Vernon. He had to give twenty-five parking tickets in Santa Monica, eight people disputed their tickets, and four of those either yelled or honked their horns at him. It was a busy Sunday afternoon in downtown Santa Monica, on one of the hottest, driest, September days. People complained he was heartless, cold, even soulless. He had a soul. He also knew his soul was going to Heaven god-damn it, unlike these scum who didn’t know how to park their cars. Why were people always so angry with him? He was just doing his job. That’s all. In fact, he was a softy sometimes. If he felt compassionate, he’d wait five minutes after a parking meter expired. Five minutes was a long time.
What a stressful day, and, unfortunately, a lot of days were like that. It was a hard job. He was doing his duty and he was good at it. His boss told him so. His boss never saw anyone so good at keeping track of time. Vernon’s eyes were always on those parking meters, his eyes were always on his watch when he marked those tires. So what if he had the highest number of complaints from the city? People couldn’t appreciate his efficiency. His boss did, and that’s why he got a raise last May. The city of Santa Monica should thank him. How many thousands of dollars did he bring in each year? He joked to himself that maybe he should change his job title to tax collector. That always made him laugh.
Vernon came home and there were no messages on the answering machine. Regina didn’t call. Then the phone rang. This must be her. He ran to the phone and picked up the receiver. It was his mother. She wanted to know if Regina had come back. He had to tell her the truth. She called every day at the same time and found the same answer from her son: Regina hadn’t come back. Vernon thought of the unthinkable ... call Regina. No, his mother said, don’t be a weakling like your father.
The phone conversation soon ended. His mother was right, Vernon thought as he poured Orange Bang into a glass. Don’t show weakness. Don’t show vulnerability. Regina will come back.
One hour passed on this tenth day of waiting, then two, then three, then four, then five. It was 10:20 pm and he was watching a re-run of Dr. Phil. Dr. Phil was a man of conviction, of values. Regina thought so herself. She’d soon realize that he, Vernon, was a man of conviction and values, too. She’d come back.
Several days later and Vernon finally accepted Regina wasn’t coming back ... She meant what she said. She was leaving for good ... Vernon looked at himself that morning of acceptance, looked at his lighter tone of African American flesh, his gut that never went away, his thick glasses ... Did Regina find him repulsive? She wasn’t model material herself, but they didn’t have sex much. When they did, she didn’t seem to enjoy it a whole lot. Did she secretly resent him for being a “lighter-skinned” black? Regina always thought Vernon’s mother had something against her for being a black black.
Vernon and his mother went to listen to the Lord that Sunday, to an Episcopal church near Crenshaw and Adams, not far from where Vernon’s mother lived. Vernon never liked the neighborhood. He much preferred Mid-City, despite the crack whores and street scum on La Brea and Washington. He could never understand why most other black folks could never pick themselves out of the gutter, pull themselves out of the slime and filth. Did they forever want to be low-lifes? Look at himself, he thought, he grew up in a bad neighborhood. He turned out okay. Parking enforcement in Santa Monica.
“Why didn’t you talk more with that girl?” Vernon’s mother asked while they drove in his car to her house.
“Ma, you know me. Things like that have to be done a certain way.”
“Your ‘certain way’ has kept you single most of your life. Sometimes you have to be open-minded.”
“She asked if I’d ever been married.”
“So?”
“You know that’s an embarrassing question, ma. I’m 42 and I’ve never been married. To most people, that tells them something.”
“What, that either you’re too scared or too smart to get married?” she said with a large chuckle.
“That’s not funny.” Vernon said with serious intent, almost an unnerving, trembling, quiet violence in his eyes.
“Don’t give me that look, boy.” She shot back in defiance, yet uncomfortable. “That’s your father’s look. A weak-minded look of scared craziness. Don’t be acting like your father. I prayed and prayed for him to have a sense of humor but he never got one. Do I need to start praying for your serious ass to get a sense of humor, too?”
“No, you don’t.” He said with a complete switch of gears, as if the mention of his father brought the whole world’s guilt onto his shoulders.
Vernon could never understand women. Even his mother. They were supposed to be delicate creatures, yet they could be so insensitive. He wasn’t his father. He obeyed the law. His father, as mild-mannered as he appeared to be, didn’t respect the law. His father was uncivil and uncouth. Vernon punished people like him – careless people – not with a gun or with a judge’s verdict, but with parking tickets. It may not seem like much to most people, but it was something. He was a positive influence on society.
Weeks went by and nothing changed. Vernon never heard from Regina and he never called her. He continued to go to church every Sunday with his mother. Vernon could never strike up anything dating-wise with the church-going women. He had to admit to himself: he was in a rut. Then again, wasn’t he always in a rut? And now he was 42. What did he do with his life? If Regina could answer, she’d say “nothing.” Well, damn it, he had done something. He was a law-abiding citizen, a Christian, and an American. That was something to be proud of. Unassuming, polite, cordial, respectable in his working-class way. Sure, he never ruffled any feathers (except that time he hit Regina’s co-worker’s car with the baseball bat), but not being a feather ruffler was a good thing, wasn’t it? People like him were going to Heaven, or at least inherit the Earth. “The Meek Shall Inherit the Earth,” so sayeth the Lord. But when was that inheritance coming? Vernon just had to wait and see. In the meantime, he’d busy himself with being Meek.
One morning he woke up late. 6:45 a.m. His alarm clock broke. He was supposed to be at work in 15 minutes! He was never late. This was wrong, very wrong. Why couldn’t the alarm clock break on his day off? Damn it all to hell, Vernon thought as he rushed to put on his parking enforcement uniform on. Eight minutes later he was in his car. Could he make it to Santa Monica in seven minutes?
No. There was too much traffic. Both the 10 freeway and the city streets were jammed. What was going on? Oh, Monday. Of course. Mondays were always bad. What would his boss say? Well, probably he’d be forgiving. He knew what a good worker he normally was.
Thirty-five minutes later and he made it to the Santa Monica City Hall main building. After going through the security at the front, he ran down the hall. While rushing down the hallways and turning a corner, Vernon bumped into a man and a woman. The couple got knocked so hard they dropped their briefcases and their coffee flew onto their clothes.
“God damn it!” the man yelled, with hot coffee on his suit and tie.
“Jesus Christ! Watch where you’re – ” the woman began to say, then realized who she was talking to.
“Regina ...” Vernon said in utter mystification, despite his panic to get to work.
“Vernon ...” Regina said, trying to get over the shock of seeing him. “You need to watch where you’re going.”
“What’re you doing here?” Vernon asked, still not believing it.
“The law firm I work for has a civil trial here in Santa Monica.”
“But – ”
“I was promoted. Marshall and I are partners now.”
“We’re also dating so ...” Marshall said with a teasing smile, standing next to her. He was a middle-aged white male with a gut and wearing thick glasses. He put his arm around Regina firmly but affectionately. “ ... don’t plan on smashing up my car!” Marshall laughed harshly. “It’s a Mercedes for one! And two, I’ll have your ass thrown in jail! I’m not as forgiving as Brendon.”
“Marshall, please.” Regina said quietly.
“I’m sorry, Vern. Can’t help it. I’ve got such a wicked sense of humor. I’m also wicked in other ways!” Marshall said, continuing his laughter.
“Stop it.” Regina said with an uncomfortable laugh and smile.
“I ...” Vernon began to say.
Vernon couldn’t stand this. This was too much. He wanted to explode. Regina noticed Vernon’s extreme discomfort, but she said nothing.
“... I’m late for work.” Vernon was eventually able to say.
Vernon rushed past Regina and Marshall and continued to run down the hallway until he got to the parking enforcement division. Inside was Vernon’s boss, who was displeased with Vernon’s entrance. It was not that Vernon was late that caused the dissatisfaction. There was another complaint made to the City against Vernon. Vernon’s boss’ superiors had to put their feet down. One more complaint about Vernon and he had to go. However efficient Vernon may be, the large number of complaints lodged against him was just too much. He was becoming a stain on the City.
“A stain?” Vernon asked in exasperation.
“I know, I know, you’re just doing your job, Vern, and I have to admit, you’re good at it. But this decision isn’t made by me. It’s over my head. Guess you gave a ticket to the wrong guy.”
“Who?”
“Herb Reese. One of the key architects to the Third Street Promenade’s rejuvenation, so to speak. He complained to the right people that you were overly zealous in your job. Sorry, but you gotta be careful now.”
A stain? How could that be, Vernon thought to himself as he walked to his parking enforcement vehicle. What was he going to do now? How was he going to avoid complaints? Sometimes there was nothing to do. People just complained, whether he was nice or not. He couldn’t stop giving tickets.
This simply was not fair, Vernon thought as he drove his parking enforcement vehicle around his usual area. Not fair at all. Maybe some people were conspiring against him. But who? He was such a cog in the wheel. Who would even notice him enough to be considered a “stain”? It had to be someone who he knew or knew him. But he didn’t know anyone and he couldn’t think of who would know him enough to want to hurt him.
Then he thought ... no that couldn’t be. But then again, maybe? Regina. Regina and her new lawyer partner/boyfriend, Marshall. He knew Regina hated his guts, and after seeing Marshall this morning, he probably did, too. Regina despised Vernon. She said so the day of their break-up. This morning she tried to cover it up with politeness, but he could still see it. “Watch where you’re going!” she yelled at him. And that Marshall guy obviously despised Vernon. It didn’t cross Vernon’s mind, though, how those two could ever get the City to come down on him.
Nor did it dawn on him that perhaps his boss was telling the truth. Herb Reese complained.
And how could Regina choose a white guy, Vernon thought to himself while giving out a parking ticket to a car who’s meter had just expired 15 seconds before. After him? An over weight, middle-aged white man who wore thick glasses. All the things he thought she disliked about him – skin color, weight, thick glasses – this Marshall guy had in spades. Wasn’t Regina interested in a younger, fitter, blacker black man? Damn her, damn her to hell. She spited him. She hated him. She wanted him to suffer. All that waiting Vernon did, all those days and days, hours and hours of waiting ... and she never even called. She did it on purpose. She wanted him to feel pain.
Fuck her. She’s a bitch. Damn her to hell.
Vernon’s inner rage could not subside. It was 42 years of pent-up hostility. He was meek. He was always meek. What did being meek get him? Everyone hated him. They all hated him, especially Regina. He thought about quitting his job, but no, he couldn’t do that. He had to keep working.
While putting a parking ticket on a black Mercedes, Vernon heard someone calling his name. He looked up and saw Marshall and Regina on the sidewalk, rushing towards the Mercedes and Vernon.
“Fancy meeting you here.” Marshall said sheepishly. Vernon didn’t respond as he stood on the other side of the car, on the street, while he typed into his parking ticket machine. “Look, we’re late getting back to our car because the waiter at the restaurant was so god damn slow. Couldn’t –”
Vernon slapped the parking ticket on the car’s windshield before Marshall could continue. Vernon would hear of no excuses. He walked back to his parking enforcement vehicle, which was parallel parked next to a car two cars behind Marshall’s.
“Well fine, fuck you too, then.” Marshall snapped.
“Thanks a bunch, Vernon.” Regina shot out sarcastically.
How dare they? How dare they say that to me, Vernon thought as he got back into his vehicle. He turned it on, but didn’t move. He just stared at Regina and Marshall, who were talking to each other as Marshall took the parking ticket from the windshield. They continued to stand next to the car on the street as Marshall was about to open his driver’s door. Regina was consoling Marshall, right there in front of Vernon. She then began to hug and kiss Marshall. ... How could Regina be so cold? After everything? After the great love they shared?
Damn them, Vernon thought, damn them to hell. Especially Regina. Damn her to hell. May she rot and burn and suffer in hell. In Vernon’s blind inner fury, he thought of the unthinkable. Maybe he could send her to hell. Send her cold soul to hell right now. She was standing there, kissing Marshall, holding him next to his car door, in the street. They were sitting ducks. They weren’t moving at all, stuck in their embrace. Yes. Send her to hell, where she belongs. No one in church talked much about hell or sending people to hell these days, but they used to do that, back in the old days. Back when people had respect in their souls. Fuck her. Yes, do it, Vernon.
Vernon slammed his foot on the accelerator, flooring the parking enforcement vehicle. The vehicle screeched, and in seconds, just as Regina and Marshall turned to look, the vehicle slammed into their bodies. Vernon was so enthralled in his bloody rage to not even notice the screams of pain. Regina and Marshall’s bodies crashed onto the pavement and car, banging around recklessly ... both of their heads smacked against the pavement, cracking their skulls ... Vernon stopped the vehicle and turned to look over his shoulder. After a few moments of their bodies twitching, they stopped moving.
