From the
Weekly Alibi.com - by Stephen Sawicki - It was a little irrational, I admit. But ever since last summer, when I got the job as a parking attendant for the University of New Mexico's special-events staff, I had taken to scouring the newspaper's sports section after every home game. Be it football or women's basketball, I was fully expecting to see mention of how my colleagues and I acquitted ourselves the night before. Time and again, I came away disappointed. In truth, with The Pit under renovation and thousands of parking spaces lost to construction, the subject did occasionally earn a paragraph or two, usually at the end of an account of a game. Most of the time it was along the lines of how hellish traffic had been, with vehicles backed up for miles while fans lost their minds waiting to park, or how outraged everyone was at having to hand over $5 for what used to be free. I understood why the parking staff received no coverage. It was the players and coaches who deserved the attention. Like our brothers and sisters in arms—the ushers, ticket-takers and everyone else behind the scenes—we were just the wind beneath the participants' wings. Only a face without a name, you never once heard me complain. But I'd be lying if I said it didn't hurt. Some days we spent as many as eight hours under the hot sun doing our jobs. Shouldn't we have our moment in it, too?
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Commentary: Confessions of a UNM Parking Attendant
From the Weekly Alibi.com - by Stephen Sawicki - It was a little irrational, I admit. But ever since last summer, when I got the job as a parking attendant for the University of New Mexico's special-events staff, I had taken to scouring the newspaper's sports section after every home game. Be it football or women's basketball, I was fully expecting to see mention of how my colleagues and I acquitted ourselves the night before. Time and again, I came away disappointed. In truth, with The Pit under renovation and thousands of parking spaces lost to construction, the subject did occasionally earn a paragraph or two, usually at the end of an account of a game. Most of the time it was along the lines of how hellish traffic had been, with vehicles backed up for miles while fans lost their minds waiting to park, or how outraged everyone was at having to hand over $5 for what used to be free. I understood why the parking staff received no coverage. It was the players and coaches who deserved the attention. Like our brothers and sisters in arms—the ushers, ticket-takers and everyone else behind the scenes—we were just the wind beneath the participants' wings. Only a face without a name, you never once heard me complain. But I'd be lying if I said it didn't hurt. Some days we spent as many as eight hours under the hot sun doing our jobs. Shouldn't we have our moment in it, too? Read more
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