Ellington

Walked the entire Mal's St. Paddy's Parade route last year. Literally—the entire lay of the land. That was my goal. But first, I had to park.

As I zoomed past the High Street and Pearl Street exits, I saw cars lined up to enter the parade. Not for me. I knew I could not go wrong by taking the back way under the Stack. Trying to fool the 60,000-plus cars trying to park, I got off at the State Street exit on Interstate 20 West. I'm so smart. Not. A train was barreling down the track, blocking my destination.

Looking at cars turning around, I had to think fast. I advanced toward Gallatin Street, and then I saw my first passageway. The graffiti-splattered steel bridge under the tracks was my first window toward downtown. I looked down South Street and spotted a rustier bridge. Under the tracks I went. I was now just blocks away from downtown.

OK. I had found the golden entrance. But as I passed, I saw parked cars everywhere. I was so late.

If I got one more text from my friends asking where I was ...

I saw a man letting people park for $10. I wasn't falling for this. Everyone else found a free spot, so I passed him up, sure I could find a free parking space.

But then, I saw in front of me, about a half block down South Street on the left, a lanky man holding up his hand.

Curious, I drove closer.

Shoving my left hand out my window, I spread my fingers as wide as they could go, and we connected.

I felt like I was in New York. He looked at me, eye to eye, without any hesitation to direct me to a parking space.

I pulled in. The spring-clover-covered parking lot was actually a rundown field and the back yard of an abandoned building. The land had limited space, yet this man was making it happen.

As I entered, I suddenly felt wrangled and trapped as I drove my Ford Expedition far back into the lot. I thought I would never get out. As I passed him, halfway hanging out my window, I stopped and asked him, "Sir, can I get out of here when I am ready to leave?" He said, "Sure, but you need to back up in this space. It would help."

Two more cars pulled into the lot, wanting to know where to park. I felt even more trapped—more cars in this money-making pit. It was a very sardine-like moment.

I sat in my car, still wanting the assurance of an exit. Then, the man and his counterparts placed orange cones at the front entrance. I was not sure if he knew the car count, but he had made an executive decision. After the last two cars behind me entered, he shut down the space. He knew his lot was full. No more revenue.

This man was a true entrepreneur. He knew his limits. As I got out of my car, I walked toward him. With a very calming look on his face, he assured me that I could exit at any time. He was customer-focused.

I handed him $5 for the fee, then I rushed to the parade.

In my hurried state to get to the event, I forgot my cell phone. I realized it after walking several blocks already. I had to go back. I was not happy, and I was still late.

Mad at myself, I walked back to my car, passing all kinds of parade-goers that were happily prancing towards the parade,.

As I grudgingly walked back to the lot, the man asked me if I needed help getting out of my space. He thought I was leaving, but I told him I had left my phone. I did not need his help; yet, he was so nice and accommodating.

What a great entrepreneur, I thought. He set me up for exit success and asked if I needed help as I passed him up to retrieve my phone, so I stopped to show him I appreciated his genuine concern. I extended my hand in gratitude, his very long fingers wrapped around my whole hand. We shook. We did the businessman eye-to-eye look ... entrepreneur to entrepreneur.

He knew kindness and respected his clients. He was there for me when I was in doubt of his product. Finding customer service in the deep bowels of our beloved Jackson was peaceful.

Jackson is a melting pot of diversity. We are a "family" in this great city. We celebrate one of the nation's most populous and widespread parades and understand we are all the same.

Oh, the parade was fantastic, but if I get one more text asking where I am ...

David Joseph is the operations manager of the Jackson Free Press.