mornings downtown

Ermias is from Somalia. He works as a parking attendant at the lot where I park my car on the days I drive to work. Every day he greets me by my first name, and I his.

As a “downtowner” I’ve utilized many garages and parking lots, and I’ve found that most people are surly at 7:45 in the morning when they park cars for a living, mustering little more than a grunt as they hand you your paid ticket. You know what? So am I. I am often surly too most days, angsty about paying to park my car and distracted by the shortcomings of corporate America. Early on though, I noticed that Ermias had a completely different energy at 7:45AM.

For a long time I never asked him his name. It was simply, “good morning.”

“Good morning.”

“It is cold today.”

“Sure is.”

“Have a nice day.”

“You too.”

One day in the fall he cracked an awkward joke and I asked him where he was from. He told me he was from Somalia and that he had 3 little kids, all under 6 years old, and a wife. We exchanged pleasantries and knowing smiles that spoke to having young children. Every day after that, I thought about his young family. Ermias was so happy each and every day, rain, snow or shine, parking cars for people in wireless headphones, low-heeled pumps and business attire. And I started to wonder. I wondered what his family was like beyond the dusty parking lot.

Just before Christmas, I decided that I was going to bake some cookies, which if you know me you know that means getting the pre-cut dough from Kroger and putting them in the oven. Modest as they were, I decided I would give the parking attendant a tin of chocolate chip cookies. After all he had been so nice, and always helpful.

I had taken that week off work to be with my own children, who ended up having other ideas about how they wanted to spend their holiday. Needless to say I had some extra time. One morning during the break I turned on the oven, and within about an hour had a warm tin of fresh chocolate chip and white chocolate macadamia nut cookies. I drove downtown, pulled in the lot and stopped. The attendant rushed out with his ticket book in hand.

I got out of the car and smiled. “I’m not parking today,” I said. He looked at me confused. Reaching into the back seat I pulled out a bag with the cookie tin and handed it to him.

“These are for your kids, and for you. Merry Christmas,” I said. “Take these to your babies and enjoy.”

He beamed. I mean, his smile was as real and as pure as anything in the natural world, and he said, humbly, “Thank you so much.” He paused and then said, “Here, give me a hug.”

It was the best hug. The. Best.

“What is your name?”

I told him my name.

“What is your name?” I asked.

“Ermias.” Then he said it again and spelled it for me.

“Ermias,” I repeated. We laughed. “Stay warm out here,” I said.

“You too Dee. Merry Christmas.”