My job and I have been friends and enemies from the moment our paths crossed. I had been jumping in for Stanley, a friend of mine, and the most overambitious car park guard you could find. After his passing, I reluctantly took over his job completely on request of the car park operators. The tiny box in the basement is small, so small actually you only need two small steps to get from one end to the next. It is also full of monitors giving an all time coverage of the car park’s happenings.

Stanley had left nearly his whole life in the guard box, including his dog Weyland who seemed to react indifferently to the death of his master and accepted me as good enough to be a company. For twenty years, this has been my second home, my basis, my fortress, out of which I watched my concrete grey surroundings for any trouble-makers on their paths to vanity and destruction. While I have seen and chased many of those creatures, some of them well-engaged in obnoxious activities, there was one story that shook me, one story that could not be chased away by waving my huge maglite torch and my bat. It is the story of the man who got stuck in a car park for 24 hours, and so it was named by the media. Compared to the friendly, smiling Stanley, I was the one to go down in history as grumpy ward, the human equivalent to that internet cat phenomenon. I had never really accepted that this job would remain with me forever. I had always declared, also before myself, that this was a temporary job, until I’d find something better. But even by the look in Weyland’s pitbull eyes I could tell this was going to last longer. And the passion came… never. While Stanley had been saluting his parking guests with a friendliness I did not even show for my closest relatives, I despised those potential rioters, and more those upper-classes expensive suit wearing male no-brainers who deliberately left their junk at the car park in order to appear clean on the outside.

When one of those passed my box for the third time, I did not care at all. As long as he was not hitting any cars or vomiting on them, I shall let him pass, for as many rounds as he pleases. The man, who got stuck in a car park for 24 hours was wearing a grey suit, a white shirt and his steps were more like stumbling tries to walk correctly. I leaned back, Weyland was sniffing behind my back while I poured another cup of coffee. I also slept in this box on a bed the small armchair in the left corner could be converted into. The first taste of coffee from this cup was hot. I was about to close my eyes again. It was 3 a.m. and the monitors showed the same grey and black, peopleless images. Until, suddenly, I spotted two creatures on the upper left monitor that displayed the second floor. Some guy was shoving away some other person, some other person that should later become known as the guy who got stuck in a car park for 24 hours. In my cursed car park. I grabbed my maglite, got up and Weyland followed me without further instructions up to the second floor. A man in jeans was holding the suit guy in a firm grip. Suit guy apparently thought it was his car. “Hey man” I held my maglite into the face of suit guy. “What is this?” The man in jeans was in a state I might call agitated: “This is my car, this guy does not seem to get that.” The jeans guy showed me his papers and they were for the car. I looked at suit guy: “What are you doing? I have seen you pass my office three times.” “I just want to get out.” Suit guy had trouble to stand on his feet.

“I can help you.” I snarled, pointing to the next exit. “See the word EXIT?” Suit guy looked into the direction. “Go there, go home and do not vomit in here or you vomited your last time”. Suit guy stumbled towards me. He slipped and I caught and held him. “My car” he tried again. In my thoughts I placed him in the right folder of rich, impolite and uneducated guys. My son, if he were still alive, would be as old as him now, I noted with disgust. If one of those guys had not ridden over him with his shiny, leather-seat Mercedes Benz.

I shoved this guy away from me in pain. “YOU GO or else your head will date my maglite right now.” Suit guy mumbled something I successfully ignored and stumbled towards the indicated exit. The man, who later would become known as the guy who got stuck in a car park, yes, this car park, was gone and I could get back to my box. The jeans guy had gotten into his car and drove away.

Stanley would have wished him a nice day or night. But I was not Stanley, I was Nathan, the grumpy, bitter ward of this stinking castle.

Only two days later it was on the news. A man had been stuck in a car park for 24 hours until waking up and finding his way out. I first did not feel interested in the story when I saw suit guy’s face on the screen. “I was at the exit, I fell and could not see the stairs. Then it all went dark again.”

Stupid programme for simple people I concluded when someone knocked on my door. I turned around.It was suit guy. “My name is Martin.” He said. “ I came to apologize, I did not mean to make such a fuss in your car park.”

My first reaction would have been to send him away but, surprisingly, I didn’t. “It is ok.” I mumbled. “Just saw it on the news.” I scratched my forehead.

“Yeah, unfortunately the one who found me works for Shinelight TV. Just wanted to say sorry.”

Then the man, who had been stuck in my car park was gone and for the first time in years, the day felt light, almost uncomplicated and less dark. Weyland moved his ears while sleeping and I nipped on my coffee.

This strange sense that a change had happened invaded me in my box and, with eyes closed, looked forward to the consequences ahead.