By Reshma Kirpalani

Cutting through the sunless hours on campus at 6:51 a.m., parking enforcement assistant Vincent Heeney, 57, juggles his gear in two hands — an oversized battery charger, a box full of requisite paperwork and a lunch box — as he walks to the Manor parking garage.

Above, Vincent Heeney, one of Parking and Transportation Services’ parking enforcement assistants, has a friendly conversation with a student on a Friday morning in February. Heeney was explaining to the student which permits are allowed in that particular lot. Left, Heeney prints out a parking citation. Photos by Reshma Kirpalani / Texas Student Media

“I’ve been used to shift work my whole life so, dark, light, it doesn’t matter to me. You just get your job done,” Heeney said in reference to his daily 4:45 a.m. wake-up call.

Inside the Manor Garage, Heeney’s white truck, loaded with bright orange car boots, roars to life as he gets ready for his daily job enforcing parking codes on campus.

Heeney is the Parking and Transportation Services’ newest hire as a ticket writer for the University. On average, he writes at least 20 parking tickets a day. His other official duties include boot installation and removal and assisting students with car trouble on campus.

The soundtrack to Heeney’s day is a state-of-the-art computer that clicks while passing all cars on campus: a slow Morse code of paid parking fines. When he drives by a campus vehicle that has outstanding fines, the computer makes a small but exploding sound that indicates a scofflaw.

Traditionally, a scofflaw refers to someone who flouts the law. For Parking and Transportation Services, a scofflaw refers to someone with unpaid parking fines who gets a heavy, orange boot thrown on their tire — the type that had UT senior Jack Sullivan waiting on the sidewalk, his arms folded in barely contained impatience while Heeney works to remove a boot from his car on a Friday morning.

“I saw [the boot] on my car late last night,” Sullivan said. “I think it’s from an unpaid fine from two years ago.”

Heeney feels no compunction about potentially ruining someone’s day as he “bangs” eight cars in the School of Social Working parking lot with tickets that morning.

“I mean that’s my job. But I don’t look to be mean to people,” he said. “Say a particular guy hollers at me, that’s water off a duck’s back. But I will never go out of my way to look for that car being in the wrong spot. You should never do that. That’s just not right.”

Heeney also takes pride in defending UT’s 15,000 parking spots with fairness and accuracy.

“It’s not fair to the folks who actually paid not to get their parking spot,” he said.

A permit manual numbering 116 pages full of rules and regulations fits comfortably in Heeney’s back pocket. During his monthlong training period after he was hired last November, Heeney had to memorize the alphabet of parking passes. While his wife shopped for china on weekends, Heeney would pull out his permit manuals and study the passes. Now, the parking enforcer has an intricate map of the campus seared into his brain and a working knowledge of all of the parking regulations.

“I’m still learning to do without the book,” he says. “However, I think I’ll always carry [it].”

On any given day of the week, Heeney is inconspicuous in his blue shirt and cap and creased Dixie pants while students step around him, rushing to class. But up close, he bears the 15 years of his former profession as a firefighter in Philadelphia in the well worn, slightly discolored lines of his face.

“Yeah, I’ve been burned on the face a few times,” he said casually.

Heeney also bears the civility of his self-appointed, unofficial job title: Ambassador of Good Will on the UT campus. In between removing a boot from a campus vehicle and writing out a line of parking tickets, the parking assistant finds time to help orient several campus visitors. He also stops to help a student with car troubles and frequently greets pedestrians with a “Good morning, sir” or a  “Have a great day, ma’am.”

“I think it’s important to be polite every day,” Heeney says. “When you’re out giving tickets you represent the University and as such, you want to present a good image of someone who actually cares about the people you’re serving, which in this case are the UT students, faculty and staff.”

While he admits that the pay is low and would be insufficient if he were currently raising a family, Heeney otherwise enjoys working as a parking enforcement assistant. His said his favorite part of the job is the Longhorn Auto Assistance Program, through which, he said, he rescues students from a run of bad luck: dead car batteries or locked-in car keys.

“They’re so relieved to get help with their car. They are always very, very grateful,” Heeney said. “There are some people who try to tip us, but of course we never take it.”

Heeney’s positive attitude is mimicked in his personal life. Last year, he packed up his life in Philadelphia and relocated to Texas at his wife’s request to be closer to their children and grandchildren.

“Gotta please the wife,” he said.

At 10:22 a.m. Heeney spots a lone vehicle in a small parking lot on campus. The clouds hang low, stubborn against the morning sun, as he pulls into the lot.

“First I’m going to see if he has a valid parking pass,” Heeney said. “If he doesn’t, then I’ll bang him with him a ticket.”

With that, he slams the heavy white door of his truck behind him.

All in a day’s work.