I started this year with a new series entitled People We Need to Kill. You'd think that 4 months into 2012, I'd be out of candidates.
But you'd be wrong. My indignation, apparently, is infinite.
Now I don't spend a lot of time ruminating about who should be thrown into the dead pool. In fact, I don't spend any time at all. Sometimes Providence simply intervenes and provides the fresh meat.
I'll give you a good example.
A few weeks ago I was at the Rite Aid pharmacy in Culver City to pick up a refill of my codeine-flavored cough medicine. This always puts me in a good mood. Not only because it offers temporary relief from my pollen-induced bronchitis, but because the cough syrup has codeine. Any medicine that inadvertently induces euphoria is a medicine I like to keep in my medicine cabinet.
As I was coming out of the store I noticed one of Culver City's finest writing a parking ticket for a numbskull who had parked in the handicapped zone. As Johnny Law explained, the culprit was not in possession of a blue handicapped parking tag.
"Holy shit", I said to myself, "How much is that ticket going to cost?" I said to the officer.
"$356," he replied, not without grinning.
I have always wondered what kind of able-bodied douchebag would actually steal a legitimate spot from a handicapped person in order to shave a little inconvenience out of their day.
So I did what any semi-sane person would do. I took a mighty swig of my purplish cough medicine, eagerly anticipating the warm glow of the codeine, and then I sat myself on a wet bench -- it was gloomy rainy day but it was about to get brighter. I waited for the impatient owner of the white Mercedes Benz who was about to find himself, or herself, $356 lighter in the wallet.
Five minutes turned into ten.
Ten minutes turned in twenty.
Twenty minutes turned into maybe I should go home and find something better to do with my time.
But alas my patience was rewarded.
I'll be the first to admit I'm no Francis Ford Coppola. The camera work is shaky and I never got a clear view of the small Asian man who couldn't be bothered to walk the extra ten feet from the vacant spot to his immediate left.
And I was disappointed in his somewhat tepid reaction. It would have been so satisfying to have seen him throw a hissy fit and go all ballistic.
However, I did get to see the hand of justice at work. And for that I'd like to thank Mr. Mercedes Benz owner, license plate # 4ZOF515. Not only for earning his way onto my dubious list of people we can do without. But also for helping to reduce out burgeoning national debt, even if it is by only $356.