The work project was located on the upper westside of Santa Cruz, close enough to the university where many of the homes in this upscale neighborhood likely rent out to students whose parents dish out what now has to be considered a small fortune worth of rent each and every month. I had never worked on this particular street before, but I knew its whereabouts, and I knew it to be an area that is filled with older money and/or students renting from those with older money.
Million dollar homes for sure, with the homes at the end of this oddly shaped cul-de-sac where my client lived, all having sweeping views of the Monterey Bay. So in theory, two million plus dollar homes. I was initially there to give the bid in September 2018, and here we were in late May 2019, thankful to have earned the business, back to actually perform the work.
Looking back on September 2018, I couldn’t recall too much about the bid itself other than it coincided with a real shitty time in my life. Earlier that month I lost a close friend to ALS, which really put the squeeze on. I was also filled to my brim with all things Quinn. She was not doing well, and when she isn’t doing well, I am not doing well. I’m not sure how I was able to keep my composure. I can’t even believe I decided to give this bid in the first place.
I do remember having to park the van about a quarter mile away. I recall it being a very hot Indian summer afternoon, which meant I needed to find some real shade for Quinn while I was in the backyard giving this work bid. Based on prior phone conversations that I had with this old lady with old money, my hunches suggested that I might be away for a while, and it turned out I was right. Obviously I would have preferred to park closer. Ideally I would have parked right in their driveway, but I had been warned that their new driveway had just been freshly stamped and yellow caution tape wrapped its perimeter.
At the time of this bid, it had already been about four months time since I had to draft up Work Rule 3C which stated something to the affect that Quinn would no longer be accompanying me while I am giving a work bid. It still tugs at me a bit that she isn’t granted that participation. She’d like to still give bids. She jumps out of shotgun and waits at the slider as though she is ready to help with the bid. I don’t know what to say other than an executive decision was made earlier this summer relegating Quinn to the work van when I was out giving bids, and a rule is a rule. The reason behind the new rule is that it’s in the best interest of the potential client that I arrive at their door with all my focus and attention span, completely free and clear of any and all No-Eyed dog responsibility and/or drama.
Enough of all that. Eight months time had passed since being there last, yet there we were. I had earmarked three full weeks of our time to get the work completed. As I drove down the street, that’s when the recollections started coming back to me. Not the part about my friend Tony passing from ALS, or the fact that when I was here last, Quinn wasn’t doing too well. This was a much more superficial retrospective that sounded more like, “Oh yeah, crappy parking setup on this street.”
Unlike late September, this time around I had to park close to the house because the van was stocked full of gear, including all three of my tallest ladders tied down on the roof rack. All of it needed to be unloaded and carried into the backyard. My only option seemed to be the old triple park, or double park, or whatever that form of illegality is called.
I partially blocked the driveway next door which is one of those long, easement-style driveways being used by multiple homes. The front portion of my van ran neck and neck with a red fire hydrant which felt ticket worthy. And for the final act, I also parked facing the opposite direction of traffic so the sliding side door could face the street, ensuring I could wheel my machines out the side door. Of course it also meant Quinn could exit the vehicle sans assistance.
So for the next hour or so I unloaded the van, removed all the ladders off the roof rack, and basically set up shop in the client’s backyard. I then chose the general area where I could situate Quinn in what would become her work shop for the next several weeks too.
Sometimes a job site has that perfect setup for Dog, and sometimes it doesn’t. There is a lot to consider when setting up her space. I take this part of the job as seriously as any other part, but please don’t tell the client. Once everything was in place, I put Quinn into what I consider the mother of all commands, that being the firm down-stay. I then went back to my van in search of a legitimate parking spot.
A couple things cropped up during her 15 minute down-stay, and neither had to do with her pulling the plug on my command. First, I noticed a parking spot within the fringe of the cul-de-sac itself that just had that look to it that said, “I am available for a reason, and that reason is because I am a very tricky parking spot to squeeze into, and that’s because this is an irregularly shaped cul-de-sac to begin with, but mainly because the seven or so, twenty some odd year old Sorority Sisters in that house right there,(I looked) they make parking around here very disheartening if you know what I mean.”
It was weird I admit, true, but weird even so.
The second detail that issued was that once again I had to park the van wayyy too far away. To add some insult, when I finally returned to the client’s backyard, that’s when I realized that I had forgotten something very important back in the van. “This is already getting old,” I thought. I sat there and questioned whether or not I should go back and get the ear pieces to my musical device. I decided not to go back to the van. Instead I chose to only log a couple hours of work before calling it a day, making this more of a “getting my feet wet” sort of start. By 2pm I was out of there.
I put a leash and collar around Quinn and we walked off the job. This is when I first witnessed some comings and goings of these Delta Gamma chicks that the tricky, under utilized parking spot had mentioned. In fact, I noticed one sister who had just parked her shiny new Mini Cooper about four feet away from the curb. Again, and admittedly, the cul-de-sac is tough to manage, but four feet away from the curb? Cmon lady! I just chuckled inside because it was funny and I didn’t care. My work day was done.
Before I forget. I did also acknowledge an old man, probably in his early 80’s, standing on a two foot step stool, washing his older Toyota T100 in his driveway. He wore a long sleeve pink polo button down, khaki shorts, and rubber boots that came up to just below his kneecap. We made brief eye contact. We may have even waved to one another, I forget.
The next morning I arrived early and found the parking to be worse than the day before. I just couldn’t believe it. Something had to give. Now that all our work gear was already in the backyard, I suppose I could have parked far away, but I was quick to remember that I am not being paid to be a hiker.
As I approached the end of the street, staring me right in the face, was that one spot on the left which everybody, including the Tri Sig members always seemed to shy away from. It’s kind of hard to describe its complexities. This spot was kind of like the spot where the base of a muffin meets the muffin top itself. Almost like if half the parking spot was the muffin base and half the spot was the muffin top. Tricky indeed. I didn’t know what to do. I certainly wasn’t going to attempt to park there with the right side of the van facing the curb. It would have been a nightmare trying to fit in, not to mention having to assist Quinn.
What did I do? Well, I drove my left front wheel over the curb and then cranked the steering wheel to the right until the left front wheel came off the curb and the left rear wheel was butted right up against the curb. In other words, and if you will, one wheel on each part of the muffin.
And that was that. Perfect in fact. I looked around this posh neighborhood making sure that nobody had something to say, then I walked around to the sliding side door, Quinn jumped out like always, and both she and I disappeared into the client’s backyard.
Believe it or not, this wrong-way, muffin top parking shenanigan went on for the entire remainder of the week. Pull up on the curb, pull off the curb, squeeze in tight without getting boxed in, side door opens, Quinn jumps down to the ground, we disappear. Nobody said anything to me. Nobody looked my way with any disdain either. The Alpha Chi Omega clan always seemed to have their heads glued to their phones, so they of course never chimed in. The one old man that was washing his car on the step stool that one day, who’s house I was parking directly in front of, I hadn’t seen him once.
And then came Saturday..
Saturday I showed up around 10am. Like always, every spot was taken except that spot. Like had been the case all week, and now with the greatest of ease, I slipped right in and immediately turned off the engine. From the driver’s side mirror, I caught a quick glance of the old man walking towards me. He just had that look that I have grown to stereotype unfavorably. Wreaking of wealth if you will. Yellow Polo Shirt this time. Baggy Designer Jeans pulled up to his belly button. Indoor/Outdoor Slippers. I had to act real fast, and I knew exactly what to do.
Instead of opening the driver’s side door to get out, I threw myself in the back and opened the slider. Both Quinn and I jumped out the side door and into the middle of the cul-de-sac. I pretended that I didn’t see him but I was well aware that I was seconds away from what I assumed was going to be a confrontation. One with condescending overtones.
Pretending to be startled by this 85 year old rich guy, I played the part and said hello. Once I opened my mouth to say hello, that is sort of Quinn’s queue to blindly get her security bark on, and on queue, she did just that.
“Sir, good to see you again,” I said. “Before you say what I think you are going to say, let me stop you. As you can see, I have a dog with no eyes. She is Quinn. It’s imperative that when we arrive at work that she is able to jump down from the side door of this van onto the street, not the sidewalk, the street. To ensure that Dog retains the courage to jump down, the distance needs to be exact every time. Imagine for a second if you had to jump down off of something and wasn’t sure where the ground was. Anyhoot, I fear that varying the distance will begin the process of building up her hesitancy, ultimately preventing her from wanting to make that jump. You obviously know this is a very crowded street for parking with the Gamma Thetas and all, and so far as I have been able to tell, this is really the only parking spot that I can make this happen without parking too far away. If it makes you feel any better, we are only working here for two more weeks, and then you will probably never see us again.”
“You are funny,” the old man replied. “It looks like you have yourself quite the cattle dog, she’s a beauty. No, I wasn’t going to tell you that I didn’t want you parking in front of my house. I came out here to ask if you would care for a homemade banana/blueberry muffin that my grand daughter just baked. She is in the Pi Beta Phi sorority and actually lives right there.”(He points to the other side of the cul-de-sac and I look)
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I replied.
“Fresh out of the oven, I’m not kidding,” he chuckled.
“Oh man, I’d love one,” I said.