Good morning happy campers, I’ve had my brisk walk (a surprisingly chilly morning, always welcome) and I’m amply caffeinated. I’ve got a big list of finds to post, scarves to crochet and deliveries to the PO, but on top of all that is a pile of paperwork–apparently I’m in charge of paying bills, who knew? Plus, I got a parking ticket.
Normally, one sucks it up and pays, because you know you overstayed your welcome, but this ticket–$35 fricking bucks!–was because my tires were apparently outside the designated white lines. I bristle at the remembrance. It was a solo spot too, on the edge of an alley and a driveway. Wasn’t blocking either of those, no! This is simply me coloring outside the lines, so to speak. And this is my beef with society in general.
If ever there was girl who can’t handle inane rules, authority for authority’s sake or coloring inside the lines just because I’m supposed to, it’s me. Don’t get me too wrong. I cross at corners, J-walking still feels crazy wrong. I wait for signals to change before walking. I drive the speed limit, unless I’m trying escape crazy drivers. (I like a VERY wide berth between me and other folk, on the road, in a mall, anywhere were there are infact People, but I digress. . . )
So, what kind of turd in his little parking nazi moped gets his jollies ticketing me for being just outside the lines? That kid. You know the one. The little kiss-up in grammar school. The one who worked extra hard to perfect filling in boxes, no outside doodles. He could have been a tax accountant (no offense, we need them); a surgeon, precision is good there too; an engineer, I like my bridges and buildings properly reinforced, all corners matching, but this worm was too lazy to strive for good use of his anal retentive ways. He’s a state worker–put in the hours, get the benefits, retire with as little contribution as possible. I live in capitol city, just blocks from the central DMV. They’re everywhere!
It’s just sad, and I’ve seen them often. I get that day dream feeling, just jerking the jeep a tad to the right and ka-thunk! Oops! One less parking enforcement guy–or gal. Oh well. (Someday an accident will happen, someone will find this post, nail me to the wall and I’ll be writing this blog from Lompoc. Just a friendly game of make-believe folks! Don’t tell me you’ve never thought of it too!)
So, as you might imagine, I’m fighting the ticket. It probably won’t help, but what ‘s an easily pissed off radical to do? Fight the system, man! (insert laugh track here).
Have a day, d.