Lines.
Maybe it's because I'm getting older and slower, but it seems to me that people are getting a little fast and loose with the concept of lines these days. With deference to various cultural mores, for example those of France where lines are treated with the same disrespect as unconscious American tourists in Paris, lines are, however, recognized more or less the same way around the world. If you live in England, you will recognize these things as 'queues'. Thanks to a little butt kicking handed out towards the end of the 18th century, we don't have to call them that anymore.
Due to the recent behavior I've been observing in public, it's apparent to me that some of you need to repeat Kindergarten. See this is how a line works: you want something that other people who got there before also want, you get in a line, you wait in the line, and then you get your stuff. Let's repeat: you get in a line, you wait in the line, and then you get your stuff.
Apparently, some of you aren't listening.
OK, I know it was tough getting through kindergarten, but as I recall the final you had to pass to matriculate to the first grade essentially consisted of being able to form, remain in for some period of time, and then proceed to some location in a line. With the schools lamentably being what they are these days it seems that this part of the curriculum has been dropped as well. Now, I know getting that gluten free hot dog at the baseball stadium is much more important than say, waiting in the damned line for your turn to order from Mr. Grouchy One Tooth and his drooling sidekick "Hammy". I mean, what the hell is a gluten anyway, and why do you want to avoid them so badly that you're willing to take the risk of cutting in front of 20 beer addled MLB fans? Luckily for you, since it's the gluten-free stand, most of the people in the line are too weak to protest let alone grab you, stuff the entire hot dog stand up where the sun don't shine and give you a one way, gluten free trip on the butt kicker express to ouchy town.
Anyway, back to my point. How hard is it to wait in a freaking line? This type of behavior is not limited to the gluten challenged, either. It has spread out of control to include bank lines, starbucks, bathrooms and of course, anything at the mall. How is it that folks come across this sense of entitlement that inflates their ego to the point where it eclipses their instinct to avoid having a hotdog cart crammed into where-the-sun-don't-shinelvania? And, seriously, who wants a hotdog cart there?
Maybe you should spend more time at the DMV. As the old adage states, "practice makes perfect!", and they have freaking lines that last for ever. At the completion of each wait, you are usually sent to another line. Plus, they give everyone a number to keep you from cutting in.
Chances are, they've had a look at your Kindergarten transcript.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
State Patrol
I'm hoping that this little chapter sparks some debate, but I have a feeling it won't.
My starting premise is this: Is the State Patrol really a service set up to enforce law and order or is it really a just a pre-cancerous colonic polyp growing in the bowels of our local highways feeding on a hidden system of self-generated revenue?
I think you already know what I'm thinking, and it has nothing to do with duct tape or the Spice Girls.
I came to that conclusion after a recent run in with a typical member of the State Patrol. Recently I was riding my motorcycle in a local canyon when something went wrong in a corner and I put the bike down at a moderate velocity of about 30mph. Not really screaming along, you might say. You might also be saying, "what was that about the Spice Girls and duct tape?" I say, pay attention. Anyway, I managed to get a few bruises, but due to the excellent riding gear I was wearing I only got the good-hurt where nothing's broken but the nice lady at the ER writes me a prescription for the really fun stuff. As I was drifting off into a nice Vicodin fueled stupor, Officer Polyp shows up and drops a citation on me for careless driving with bodily injury. Normally, I would've been like "Get your tax fattened ass out here you parasitic, self important, glorified crossing guard!" Instead I said "F-Glurmph?" and then drooled a bit. My wife explained to me later what happened. Officer Polyp informed me that after his weekend long training course on riding motorcycles with the State Patrol he learned that motorcycles that look like mine have superior traction and handling characteristics such that any accident must be due to careless driving. This is without any consideration to the gravel, oil, cold road surface, tire wear, pressure and mammoth sized road kill conditions that were all present at the scene of the accident. (OK, I made up the mammoth, but still...) Apparently, according to Officer Polyp, red Ducati motorcycles can also defy gravity, withstand 20Gs without losing traction in corners and will cure cancer with their tears. My apologies Chuck Noris, it's not only you.
Anyway, due to the fact that no one but me was injured, the bodily injury part was essentially applied incorrectly, as the statute requires that someone OTHER than the driver received the bodily injury. Based on the complete lack of evidence for careless driving in this case, the addition of the bodily injury charge must be due to the officer's barely above pond scum level of intellect tricking him into thinking that there was a mouse in my pocket. ("Write him a Ticket, George!") The mouse must've been somehow injured during the crash. Soon I was meeting with the DA, who's familiarity with the case upon meeting me for an interview during my initial hearing prompted him to ask me what type of car I was driving when I ran over the pedestrian. I was informed that the charges were probably incorrect, but would be amended after he had time to come up with new ones. So, basically no matter how incompetent and stupid the officer writing the citation happens to be, the system will still try to find a way to stick it to you.
The only conclusion that anyone can reasonably make regarding the activities of the State Patrol is that whenever they show up, someone is getting a bill. The best part about this is that they can generate enough money from shake downs like this enable them to hire more State Patrol. Remember that cancer analogy I brought up at the beginning? They might as well install a credit card reader right onto the patrol cars. That way, we can at least cut out the middle men, such as the DA, who was literally stealing oxygen while talking to me. No joke, he totally bogarted this old lady's O2 canister right in the middle of traffic court, jammed it up his nose and started swilling down O2 that could be used for all kinds of other productive purposes, such as bringing back Jacques Cousteau! Back to my point, have you ever noticed how at every speed trap, there seem to be more and more State Patrol cars? That's because they're trying to induct all of their friends and family. Every 10 tickets per day opens up the slot for another officer. Pretty soon we'll all be in the State Patrol, and then we'll have to ramp up a serious tourism marketing campaign to bring in more out of state drivers to keep the ticket revenue flowing. Of course, you'll never have a trooper around when someone is committing an actual crime since they'll all be either sitting in speed traps or following around motorists waiting for them to have an accident so that they can swipe their credit cards.
I guess the best option is avoid them all together. I'd recommend taking the bus, but you might fall down the steps and get cited for skydiving without a parachute.
For my money, next time I'm going to try to run into the Spice Girls.
My starting premise is this: Is the State Patrol really a service set up to enforce law and order or is it really a just a pre-cancerous colonic polyp growing in the bowels of our local highways feeding on a hidden system of self-generated revenue?
I think you already know what I'm thinking, and it has nothing to do with duct tape or the Spice Girls.
I came to that conclusion after a recent run in with a typical member of the State Patrol. Recently I was riding my motorcycle in a local canyon when something went wrong in a corner and I put the bike down at a moderate velocity of about 30mph. Not really screaming along, you might say. You might also be saying, "what was that about the Spice Girls and duct tape?" I say, pay attention. Anyway, I managed to get a few bruises, but due to the excellent riding gear I was wearing I only got the good-hurt where nothing's broken but the nice lady at the ER writes me a prescription for the really fun stuff. As I was drifting off into a nice Vicodin fueled stupor, Officer Polyp shows up and drops a citation on me for careless driving with bodily injury. Normally, I would've been like "Get your tax fattened ass out here you parasitic, self important, glorified crossing guard!" Instead I said "F-Glurmph?" and then drooled a bit. My wife explained to me later what happened. Officer Polyp informed me that after his weekend long training course on riding motorcycles with the State Patrol he learned that motorcycles that look like mine have superior traction and handling characteristics such that any accident must be due to careless driving. This is without any consideration to the gravel, oil, cold road surface, tire wear, pressure and mammoth sized road kill conditions that were all present at the scene of the accident. (OK, I made up the mammoth, but still...) Apparently, according to Officer Polyp, red Ducati motorcycles can also defy gravity, withstand 20Gs without losing traction in corners and will cure cancer with their tears. My apologies Chuck Noris, it's not only you.
Anyway, due to the fact that no one but me was injured, the bodily injury part was essentially applied incorrectly, as the statute requires that someone OTHER than the driver received the bodily injury. Based on the complete lack of evidence for careless driving in this case, the addition of the bodily injury charge must be due to the officer's barely above pond scum level of intellect tricking him into thinking that there was a mouse in my pocket. ("Write him a Ticket, George!") The mouse must've been somehow injured during the crash. Soon I was meeting with the DA, who's familiarity with the case upon meeting me for an interview during my initial hearing prompted him to ask me what type of car I was driving when I ran over the pedestrian. I was informed that the charges were probably incorrect, but would be amended after he had time to come up with new ones. So, basically no matter how incompetent and stupid the officer writing the citation happens to be, the system will still try to find a way to stick it to you.
The only conclusion that anyone can reasonably make regarding the activities of the State Patrol is that whenever they show up, someone is getting a bill. The best part about this is that they can generate enough money from shake downs like this enable them to hire more State Patrol. Remember that cancer analogy I brought up at the beginning? They might as well install a credit card reader right onto the patrol cars. That way, we can at least cut out the middle men, such as the DA, who was literally stealing oxygen while talking to me. No joke, he totally bogarted this old lady's O2 canister right in the middle of traffic court, jammed it up his nose and started swilling down O2 that could be used for all kinds of other productive purposes, such as bringing back Jacques Cousteau! Back to my point, have you ever noticed how at every speed trap, there seem to be more and more State Patrol cars? That's because they're trying to induct all of their friends and family. Every 10 tickets per day opens up the slot for another officer. Pretty soon we'll all be in the State Patrol, and then we'll have to ramp up a serious tourism marketing campaign to bring in more out of state drivers to keep the ticket revenue flowing. Of course, you'll never have a trooper around when someone is committing an actual crime since they'll all be either sitting in speed traps or following around motorists waiting for them to have an accident so that they can swipe their credit cards.
I guess the best option is avoid them all together. I'd recommend taking the bus, but you might fall down the steps and get cited for skydiving without a parachute.
For my money, next time I'm going to try to run into the Spice Girls.
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