Four of them stood in the shade of a tree next to the parking lot outside the cemetery. All were short, their clothes were dirty and their skin browned by the sun. When a car arrived, one of them would stride across the parking lot, directing the car with vigorous gestures into one of the free spaces. Then they’d go up to the driver’s door and recieve a handful of coins for the service they’d provided.
The people leaving the cars were dressed in black, and walked into the First Cemetery of Athens to attend a funeral. I sat on the balcony overlooking the cemetery entrance, drinking coffee and enjoying the June morning. I watched this routine repeat for a while — dozens of cars parked and dozens of coins exchanged without complaint. The ‘parking attendants’ would take turns and pass the time smoking cigarettes until the next car entered the parking lot.
Our apartment building overlooked Schliemann’s tomb from behind, and had a distant view to the highest point of the city in front. The shops below the apartment offered services to the dead in one way or another. Shops which sold vivid printed tomb stones, and marble statues, and flowers. Inside sat old greek men reading the newspaper, smoking cigarettes, drinking coffee. Cats slept on the pavement outside in the shade of brightly flowering trees. And the car park slowly filled with cars.
One woman had no coins — she had to coordinate the payment with another mourner. She was flustered and the morning was heating up. Eventually she satisfied the ‘parking attendant’ and entered through the shaded gates of the cemetery.
What struck me as odd was that at no point did any of the mourners suggest that they were upset — to argue with the ‘parking attendants’, to resist the scam. It was free to park outside the cemetery, and the grifters were not employed in any official capacity — they had none of the trappings of a parking attendant. The euros were placed directly into their pockets. All four of them left the square once the funeral party had arrived. They seemed to know the schedule at the cemetery. The coins were handed over in silence by men and women, old and young who judging by their clothes and the location of the funeral, were members of Athen’s élite.
It seemed such a strange response — but perhaps, the response most preserving of their own dignity. To be upset was to pretend that the grifter with palm outstretched and the Athenian in mourning were in some way equal, to pretend that both are governed by the same rules. Perhaps by paying, they preserved the social order. Perhaps my own indignation reveals a latent egalitarianism that is not present in those Greeks. Perhaps I’m simply a prole. An athenian once wrote something to the effect of: Stand up to your equals, defer to your superiors, and be moderate towards your inferiors. The mourners upheld spirit the ancient athenian better than I can, or at least know how to identify their inferiors.
We entered the cemetery later that morning to visit Schliemann’s tomb and and encountered the same funeral group marching to the grave, led by chanting greek orthodox churchmen in black robes. The procession went on, the mourners were stoic.
August, 2023