On August 10th, just as I was finishing parking on 28th Street in Varadero, next to what used to be the Municipal Party Committee building, a young woman dressed in white appeared with a well-intentioned “Good morning.”

After returning the greeting, I couldn’t help but ask, “How can I help you?” Calm and precise, she delivered the first challenge of the morning: “I’m the parking attendant, and I’ve come to collect payment,” she said. That’s when I noticed a small badge confirming her role.

Respectfully, I explained that it was impossible to pay before having used even a minute of the parking service. I always paid car attendants upon leaving—whether in Havana, Varadero, or Timbuktu. It seemed logical, although we know that logic often fails in our society. And this seemed like another example.

Up to that point, we understood each other. The real magical realism arrived two and a half hours later, when I was ready to leave. Standing before me again was the parking attendant. I handed her 50 pesos (a price I considered fair given inflation and the beach location), and she bluntly replied, “It’s 150 pesos, not 50.”

My brain screeched to a halt before I even started the car. Where were the public price listings? How could I be charged the same for two and a half hours as if I’d parked all day? Who made this decision, and why was the receipt just a tiny slip of paper that only said “Cárdenas” with no price?

Of course, the attendant couldn’t answer. She simply demanded the inflated amount, saying she was just an employee following orders from her superiors. I swear I wanted to call the municipal government representative who issued such a resolution, the police to arrest me for not paying, and anyone responsible for such absurd ideas.

My family held me back. We paid, convinced that there may be more expensive hourly parking spots (perhaps private ones), but this one surely ranks among the top in the state sector—without the slightest explanation as to why.