Since April 2017, Reporter has been running an investigative operation on the RIT Parking Office — which has long been the subject of speculation for their secretive procedures and labyrinthian bureaucracy. Administration caught wind and threatened to shut down Reporter if they published. When the Reporter staff were locked in their office went on break, Distorter staff decided to take the chance and publish this stunning tale.

“You don’t seek out The Society. They recruit you. You’re scouted for a long time beforehand. It’s as if it’s all just happenstance, like anything else that happens in life. They’re organized and efficient. There certainly is a method to their madness,” Bill Wrestler Winslow told us. His name has been altered per request.

Winslow approached one of Reporter’s writers at a drag club downtown that the two happened to frequent.

“I will only talk if you conceal my identity. I will only talk face to face at meetings that I will arrange, no mobile or online communication,” Winslow whispered under his breath as Britney Spears reverberated through the club on a windy October evening.

At a later meeting, Winslow went on to detail a massive, secretive organization running the RIT Parking Office.

"It is a historical society," he explained. "It's a cult with ranks and rules, hierarchies of authority, history and lore that date back to the founding of the institution itself.”

He claimed The Society began in 1887 by one of RIT's own founders — a friend of Captain Henry Lomb’s and director of the Rochester Mechanic’s Institute.

“Every one of his descendants is still a part of The Society. But it’s not a monarchy. The whole society works as a meritocracy, by virtue of their commitment to The Society,” Winslow whispered.

Winslow detailed his journey in making his way up the ranks of The Society, and explained that he was forced into exile, first from the university — then from the city and eventually the nation.

The Journey

“It seemed as though everything pointed me to them. I got emails; I saw flyers; I saw the Parking Services cars glide through campus like silent knights, watchful protectors. So I applied. I was interviewed, it was all standard procedure. I had a desk job for the first odd month or so, processing parking violations, dealing with citation contestations — that sort of thing," Winslow recounted. "I was promoted. Graduated to a car and uniform. That's when my boss gave me three explicit 'trials' as she called them."

"First, 66 parking citations. Second, 6 relics from my family history. Third, 6 strands of my hair."

"First, 66 parking citations. Second, 6 relics from my family history. Third, 6 strands of my hair," explained Winslow.

An overzealous new initiate may target areas on campus where parking law is historically less enforced, especially after 5 p.m., to prove his worth to The Society, according to Winslow.

"I’ll admit it was strange, but I was eager and I completed the tests within six weeks. I was then invited to my midnight induction underneath Ingle Auditorium," Winslow said.

"When I arrived, they were covered in large robes of the same color and design as the Parking Office cruisers. They stood in a circle around a sacrificial parking ticket, chanting ominously. I held my hand over the ticket while they chanted, and began following their rhythm. I was given an engraved dagger, I made a deep cut in my palm and the blood dripped and crafted the word VIOLATION on the ticket. I was in," Winslow whispered, hardly making noise.

Since Reporter's last interview with Winslow, he has since ceased communication. His whereabouts are currently unknown.

You might be wondering — what is The Society actually doing? If you want to know...

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