Officially A Rat

As many of my friends know, I spent a short time being unemployed before I found work – not my dream job, but one that gave me some pocket change. I took a position with a unique legal firm in Houston, Texas. It was a far cry from anything I have done in my life. I had a whole new language to learn, new routines and a handful of law partners to learn how they wanted things done their personal way. I told each one of them they were like newborn babies for me, and we all know babies don’t come with an instruction manual tailored to each one's individual likes, dislikes and all the unknown variables that can be factored in.  The office was housed on the 13^th floor of prime real estate on Post Oak Boulevard. That is Houston’s version of Rodeo Drive. [If you guys don’t know what Rodeo Drive is. . . . Google it.]

Another aspect of this new adventure was the fact that I joined the commuter realm. For years I lived in areas where the drive to work was either simple, short and sweet, or I was going the opposite direction of the main flow of traffic. I was able to drive right up to the first spot by the entrance and sashay in with ease. Not so with this job. I had to drive on congested freeways and side streets. It took me weeks to find a path that got me off the interstate and into my section of town in less than 90 minutes.

Oh, and Fridays? Try getting home from Houston to Baytown on a Friday afternoon. There is a total Exodus starting at three in the afternoon. I think folks take off from work as early as possible to get the heck out of Dodge. ALL OF THEM. At the end of my first week I found myself in the fray of truckers, families, and single people all attempting to evacuate the city in a frenzy. There were people racing in and out of traffic, barely hitting brakes in time before plowing into the person in front of them, veering into the next lane with no signals – causing total panic on the driver they just cut off. It was a mess. A drive that should have taken 45 minutes took almost two hours. Ouch. I wondered if I could make enough money at this job to buy a helicopter. Ha Ha. In my dreams.

I also had another new experience – the parking garage. Placed next to the 22 story high rise where I worked was an eight level parking garage. On my first day of work I was handed my new parking garage key card. No instructions were included. I found the entrance I was to use. That was easy. The first two were labeled Reserved Parking. They may as well have said Big Shots Who Can Afford Reserved Parking or just plain Fat Cats. The ceiling clearance was posted at 6’ 4”. I had no clue how tall my Honda Odyssey was, so I held my breath and entered slowly. Needless to say, cars were honking for me to hurry. The loudest one was the jacked up pick up truck behind me. So I took it that my little van would fit. I found the contract parking section marker that steered me away from the free visitors’ section. I wound my way through to the machines with the magic lift arms that would allow me in to my sector. I rolled up to the machine and searched for the place to insert my card. In the process of my confusion trying to fine the slot, my card hovered in front of a panel and a beep was heard. The arm lifted. Duh. Airport parking and museum garages manned by humans taking your ticket have been my only experience with this situation.

So now, instead of driving up to the entrance doors and sashaying in, I have become one of hundreds of underground creatures scurrying through dark level after dark level of a parking garage searching for a prime parking spot. Oh, wait, prime doesn’t come into play here. The prime spots are from levels one to three. I have seen the cars parked in the spaces numbered 101 – 150. My lifetime income will never total what these people make in a month. By 325 – 400 they are nice SUVs and sedans. These levels have posted speed limits so you will drive slower to avoid turns that may scrape a car your insurance company couldn’t possibly afford to repair. They also have speed bumps to further slow you down lest you accidentally bump one of the big dogs running in the River Oaks circle. You know how the Houston Museum of Natural Science has the levels marked with colors and the names of dinosaurs? I could imagine colorful pictures on ground level of a priceless Arabian stallion. Three levels up is a fluffy Persian cat perched on a padded pillow. Go higher and images of show dogs decorate the walls. Keep climbing and the levels change from birds to turtles, to possums, to snakes and to my level, the slugs. Oh, and there are no speed bumps on Slug Level. You get points for mowing us down.

After level four you will continue to find reserved slots with numbers painted on the floor. These are all near the elevators. The unmarked slots for regular people are found at a distance just short of a cross county race. Once on my level, it is discovered that every good parking slot is taken by people who live close enough in town to avoid the dreaded freeway commute. I continue up toward the sunlight and find the only place I can bend this boxy van into – on the roof. Mind you, rain is slated for my first day. Great.

So I have evolved backward. Like an old building infested with rats, I now crawl around with the rest of the vermin undeserving of superior parking in the underbelly of a parking garage as we forage for a place in this building trying to avoid the traps of dimly painted reserved numbers and finding glee on level seven at the farthest end of the garage that still has some form of cover from the elements. The walk is still endless, but I tread the path with the knowledge that, if I get up early enough, leave home early enough, hope for the best of traffic conditions, and just plain luck out – I won’t get soaked in the rain or sweat for more than 20 seconds on my way in to the office. You know what they say about Houston and our humidity. “If you have to walk outside, there is a twenty second rule. Any longer exposed to our heat and humidity you’re going to sweat and stink up the office.” With my hike from parking place to elevators – yeah, I’m probably going to be a little rank.