Shortly before the end of finals week last semester, I was attacked. The beatings were short, unwarranted and vicious. What’s more, they came two days in a row. Like an unexpected bird dropping, I felt the sudden sting of surprise. I didn’t see my attackers, but they left something to let me know who they were–two parking tickets.
Who are these monsters lumbering across campus in spandex pants and carrying weapons that spew forth pieces of paper? Determined to find out, I located a car conveniently double-parked. Knowing an enforcement agent would arrive within a few minutes, I ducked behind a snow mound and waited.
Then it appeared: a spider-looking creature crawled down from his bike and glared at the parking strip that crossed directly under the center of the car. His coal-red eyes shifted to the handgun he was holding. Staring into the screen and typing with his thumbs, he looked like an evil psychic communicating with a dead spirit. Letting forth a squeal of pleasure, the spider-creature shot a piece of paper from the gun and gently placed it on the car window with his sticky tentacles.
I’ve been to the zoo several times, but never in my life have I witnessed a creature so demonic and seemingly void of kindness. Just as he was leaving, I felt myself choke up a cough. No sooner had it escaped my mouth than the spider’s long tentacles wrapped around my throat. Dragging me to his bike, my face filled with blood like a swollen mosquito. Then, I passed out.
When I awoke, I found myself surrounded by miscellaneous car parts, spider webs, and even occasional bones (which I suspect are the remains of uncooperative students).
I soon managed to find my way out of this dungeon and into another room. Here I saw various spider creatures hard at work in white lab coats. It is in this spawning laboratory, I later discovered, that the creatures are born. Thirty years ago, the university tried to recruit students to monitor parking, but none were cold-hearted enough to apply. Instead, the university decided to use its scientific and genetic expertise to create an entirely new species. They were given eyes with the sharpness of eagles, bodies as limber as spiders and hearts as cold as the worst third-world-child-exploiting CEOs.
This room was interesting, but the smell was putrid and I needed a breather. Continuing through this lair of filth, I found a room filled with the handheld ticket guns I had seen before. Talk about a violation of the university gun policy! With the amount of money these guns can generate, it’s unclear why the university continues to oppose having guns on campus.
The next room was chock-full of gangly spider-men hunched over computer screens. One enforcement agent in particular caught my attention. I noticed a wry smile form on his face as he posted a mission statement on the Web site: “Commuter Services’ mission is to provide in a friendly, courteous and efficient manner, a wide range of transportation options for all who come to the campus of the University of Utah. To this end, we encourage . . . voluntary compliance with parking regulations.” The monster seemed to find the last sentence especially laughable.
I couldn’t help but let out a disgusted sigh as I watched him type these hypocritical claims. The fact that his spider brethren were simultaneously handing out parking citations seemed to be the ultimate irony. Then the spider looked over at me and I ran out of the Annex building like a frightened bed-wetter.
Illustration by Michelle Christensen