"You will find relief from vain fancies if you do every act in life as if it were your last." -Marcus Aurelius

This morning, a Little Tokyo parking lot attendant (whom I've admittedly often thought of as "The Parking Nazi") threatened me with towing. He yelled at me for walking my dog off the property, even though I'd purchased the requisite Starbucks beverage and was planning to sit with it on the premises after I'd taken Lulu down the street to do her morning business. The diminutive Latino man with the ugly scowl turned his back on me, wouldn't look me in the eye while he made his accusation, shouting that he'd seen me walk around the block with Miss Pooch yesterday morning, triumphant that he'd caught me in a dreadful theft of parking space.

"Yes, I did," I responded. "And, if you also recall, she and I came back to Starbucks, sat at an outdoor table, and read the paper." Well within parking lot requirements, I thought. But he adamantly pointed to the last line on the signage: If you leave the property, you will be subject to towing.

Then he loudly anticipated that I'd allow Lulu to defecate on site and leave it there for him to pick up. I produced a plastic Trader Joe's bag, pulled it from my jeans pocket while assuring him I'd never do such a thing; I am a responsible dog owner. "Do others leave their dog's mess for you?" I asked. He yelled that they not only leave it, they sometimes throw it at him when he tells them to clean it up (bagged or unbagged, I wondered to myself -- either way, it was not a pretty picture). I suddenly felt so sad for this man, perched in his little wooden treehouse overlooking the lot for which he is responsible, weekdays from 6am to 3pm. "And they throw hot coffee at me." No wonder this man is so miserable.

"Let's talk like human beings," I suggested quietly, trying to meet his angry gaze. "My name is Alexandra. What's yours?" I offered my hand. It took a couple of long seconds, but he reached down from his aerie with a perfunctory shake and a surly "Salvador."

"I come here many times a week, Salvador, to get coffee and walk my dog and write. You and I see each other quite often, and we've never spoken (it seemed inflammatory to remind him of the time a few months ago when he yelled at me for letting little Lulu pee on the honeysuckle). I'm sorry about that. And I'm so sorry people treat you with such disrespect."

"I am only doing my job," his voice softened slightly. "I have two children, I am divorced, I have to pay child support. This is what the owners ask me to do, and I do it. People don't understand. They take advantage."

I smiled at him and let him know I understand. His face began to change, the bully dropped away, revealing a kind, simple man. He even laughed slightly when he told me that everytime I leave Lulu in the car while I'm getting my coffee and he chalks my tire, she barks at him. "She protects your car," he winked. Only a few minutes after he'd threatened to call the tow truck for my Camry, Salvador winked at me.

Then, this: "I apologize to you, Alexandra." He explained in more detail why he screamed at me, wanting me to truly comprehend his experience. I listened carefully, allowed him to complete his vent, accepted his apology, offered my own on behalf of those who apparently don't know any better.

Then he said, "Anytime you want to come here, you walk your dog, you write, you stay as long as you like. Just tell me, and I'll show you where to park so you'll be safe from towing. I will take care of you." We shook hands again, smiled at each other. Said goodbye 'til the next time.

I'm looking forward to the next time.