Mercedes

This morning, a co-worker called on the phone and we were talking about California. In the fall of '05 and into the spring of '06, I spent 8 months out in Calabasas, California in the northwest corner of Los Angeles County. Along with a couple of gigs on Maui, I count it as one of my most pleasant assignments.

In the business center that had our office, a lady by the name of Mercedes was the parking lot attendant. Mercedes lived 25 miles away and she worked two shifts there. One by day where she watched the lot and cars for the business residents and the evening shift where she collected parking fees from patrons of nearby restaurants. Some people may have been content to sit on their tufts and waited for some agency to put them on some program but not her. She put in as many as 16 hours 4 days a week and another 8 for Saturday and Sunday. I don't care what you say, that's a lot of work even if you do get Tuesdays off.

Every day, I would take a break and walk the bank deposit up a few hundred yards to the Bank Of America in a trendy little shopping center and would sometimes bring Jane and Lori back a treat from the Coffee Bean and Tea Company. Often, I would bring Mercedes something back as well. She loved vanilla lattes.

Southern California isn't known for it's bad weather and often, in the late winter, temperatures would hover in the mid 70s and rarely did it rain. She sat vigilant in a plastic chair behind her Ford Explorer under the large eucalyptus and china berry trees and admonished the botox vixens to park within the painted lines of the parking lot. I always wondered why Mercedes would be wearing a rain coat and holding an umbrella in the seemingly pristine atmosphere. After curiosity finally festered one day, I screwed up my courage and asked why she had an umbrella when it wasn't raining. She took a sip of her latte, grinned, shrugged and remarked, "Oh Senor,............. it keeps the birds from pooping on my head."