FFJ - 8 - Lighthouse Keeper

Jack often imagined himself as a modern-day lighthouse keeper, boldly overlooking the roaring ocean as the lens spun above. A beacon of light in the dark, a place of safety and sanctity for those seeking passage in the night. His role as the night shift parking garage security guard was equally-important, even if the world was too ignorant to acknowledge that fact. Even his fellow guards performed their duties with a blasé that irritated Jack. They were not stalwart nor vigilant. Were they lighthouse keepers, they would laze about while ships careened into the shores. He had told his supervisor as much, but she had said he took his job “too seriously.” He couldn’t fathom that, from his supervisor no less.

He knew he had to be the one to set a standard around here. Bitterness was no taste worth hanging onto. Jack could not change the attitude of others, for the light cannot force a ship any which way, it could only act as a guide. Many a weary traveler graced his ticket counter in quiet hours of night, and he wanted nothing more than to make sure they made it to the hotel above safely and with a smile on their face. It was no easy task being a beacon of positivity in such a drab place. He hung Christmas lights in his booth and played up-beat music at a respectful volume from a ladybug-style speaker that hung from the quaint ceiling of his station. 

Jack had a knack for faces and built a rapport with the frequent flyers, guests, and locals. Names unspoken for months would resurface in the forefront of his mind when a familiar face pulled back in, handing him the ticket to stamp with the date and time. A laugh shared went a long way, for both of them, he always thought. 

He was content with his duty. Slim as some saw it, he was important to people. The thought kept him going, kept him acting as that small sliver of light in the dark. Supervisor opportunities came and went as often as the supervisors themselves, but it wasn’t for Jack. They were hands off, away from the booth. He didn’t care for numbers and schedules. He cared about people and the interactions of the day-to-day.

It was a constant, like the lighthouse itself. The tides would change. The parking garage would get a new slick of asphalt. The hotel would change owners and brands. Boutique shops across the way shifted in impermanence. Yet, Jack remained. Many journeys and stories were told in his few foot wide station, and there were many yet to tell. White graced his hair, and spots dotted his arms. But the hand that took the ticket and the smile that flashed with practiced ease at new faces and old stayed the same.