Pretending to read messages on his mobile phone, the King discretely observes the wealthy couple getting out of the French restaurant at the corner of the Plaza, the man’s white shirt and the woman’s evening dress shining under the bright moonlight that bathes Panama City in a pale glow. The well-dressed man tries to hail a cab, too late: the yellow Toyota passes without slowing down and turns the corner. The King ignores the couple – for now. Time is on his side.
A black and shiny supersized S.U.V. enters the Plaza, hiding its occupants behind a veil of tinted glass. The King waves one arm while the other slips the mobile phone in a shirt pocket. Then he patiently helps the driver shoehorn the mammoth-sized car in the only available parking space. The black window rolls down by two inches and two manicured fingers slide out, holding a few dollar bills.
The rich couple is still waiting. The King walks to them and offers his services. Instantly a yellow cab turns into the Plaza. The King throws himself in front of the wheels to stop the car, then glides towards the back, opens the door and bows. A hand dives into a deep pocket; dollars appear then promptly vanish with a polite “Thank you, Sir. Have a good night.”
Why look for daytime job when you can be the King of Parking?