Bringing the Hate Back

It’s been too long since we had some honest-to-God hate going on here. The comics are fine and good, and the e-mail exchanges with the litigious morons was fun, but I feel like I could get the ball rolling, perhaps trigger a mighty avalanche of vitriol the likes of which Sean hasn’t seen since 2001. So here goes:

I hate when cops flout parking laws.

Let’s get one thing straight: I don’t have a huge chip on my shoulder for cops. I’ve heard all the stereotypes, all the epithets, even watched a few unflattering YouTube videos. Flawed system arguments? Heard them. At the end of the day, I’m glad they’re out there scaring people who do violent or illicit things around my neighborhood. I can’t imagine it’s a very pleasant job.

Parking tickets in New York City range from to 5, depending on the offense, and they’re meted out by the Parking Enforcement Division, which I can only assume is the police equivalent of the Untouchable caste in India.

I don’t intentionally park illegally. But I’ve been hit with plenty of parking tickets anyway. Enough to develop the proper fear and hatred of those fuckers in their three-wheeled go karts.

Case in point: Alternate-side-of-the-street parking rules. In the mornings the sanitation department runs the street sweeper down all the streets. That means for an hour and a half (8:30 a.m. to 10 a.m.), one side of the street has to be bare of cars so the brushes can do their business. That’s all fine and good, except that everyone on the block double-parks on the other side of the street. If you forget about street-sweeping day, you wake up to find yourself hopelessly trapped by a solid line of late-model import sedans and minivans. And no manner of horn-honking or screaming will summon anyone from their apartments to let you out. I have called the cops on these people. No one gets ticketed. Nobody cares.

Having been made late to work several times by this, I always park on the side of the street the city demands vacated by 8:30. Of course, having lived here a year, I know that the street sweeper never shows up until 9:30. That used to make me lazy. On one particular morning, I got out of the house at 8:45, to find a fat parking ticket on my windshield, issued at 8:40 a.m.

Solid line of double-parked cars in flagrant violation of city laws? Not a single violation. I have paid the tickets and made peace with it, but I carry that little wound of the iniquity of parking enforcement. I try to act as a shining beacon to all those total bastards out there too lazy to search for a parking space: I can park legally at all times. It’s not even that hard. Give it a try some time, assholes.

I find it especially insulting when I see a police officer’s civilian vehicle parked illegally. Yes, emergency vehicles should be allowed special parking privileges. Yes, it makes sense to move firefighters’ personal vehicles out of the way so they don’t get scratched to hell when the hook-and-ladder truck comes back to the station. But when the only car left on the right side of the street is some cop’s Nissan Maxima with the badge placard in the front windshield, all “dangerous job” indulgences shatter like glass in my mind. No meter maid is going to give a fellow cop a ticket, and no amount of complaining or lecturing is going to change that. What’s worse, said Maxima-driving cop parks in front of the fire hydrant on our block. He doesn’t even bother to move it when everyone else has double-parked and left him with the entire length of the street.

Another cop near my work had the audacity to park behind my car, which I had nestled close to the car in front of me so that the hydrant behind me would get its full 15-foot clearance. Said cop parked his shattered-windshield Mercury Sable touching my rear bumper. How do I know it was a cop? The midtown Manhattan placard displayed in the windshield.

Don’t mind me, guys, I’m just blocking a hydrant, and let’s forget for a minute that I’m in Queens, about 20 miles away from the precinct where this placard would actually have any bearing. We’re all part of the same brave fraternity, a fraternity that hates firefighters, so let’s remember where our alliances lie and disregard the undeniable fact that I am obstructing a piece of equipment vital to saving lives and property. Fucking hose jockeys deserve to lose one, anyway.

I don’t care how hard your day is. I don’t care how many kids died in your arms or how many muggers you put behind bars. The minute you decide that not driving around for another five minutes to find a legal parking space in your own neighborhood is worth risking the lives of civilians, you deserve to be suspended from duty.

11 thoughts on “Bringing the Hate Back

  1. Solution
    Break a window or two on the Maxima, or put a fat scratch down one side. Just walk by a little too closely to the car late at night with something sharp in your hand. Slashing tires is also a possibility. Whether you leave a note so that the owner knows why he’s been targeted is left to your discretion.

  2. Torch it.
    Now that would be poetic justice. Light it up,man. Put gas all over that Maxima, and flick your Bic. Go ahead, you know you want to. Give the firemen something to do: stand around and laugh since they can’t get to the hydrant to put the burning car out.

    On the other hand, you know you love it when you’re behind a cruiser and he uses the remote to make the light change green. Though I wonder if they think we’re stupid, like we don’t know that’s what he’s doing. Does he think that just ’cause he’s not using his lights to run the intersection we’re not going to be annoyed at the abuse of power?

  3. No no no.
    Mount a hydraulic piston ram on the top of your car. Then, when you are jammed in, just knock the offending car clear out of the way with 100,000 psi of brutality.

    Of course, you might need something to counter-balance that whole equal and opposite reaction thing. Damn Newton!

    Oh, and you’ll probably have to disguise it as well. My suggestion: a giant banana.

  4. No no no.
    I also dislike it when a cop abuses his power but I know that if I was in the same position I would abuse my power like crazy so I can’t say much.

  5. Blue Bird of Happiness!
    I am probably and likely askew again, but I believe that when I was last bird watching that I saw a Carolina Blue Bird, and upon looking it up in the book as well as the tree I found that it was in the latinate, Cialis! Blarmy! OK, so it’s sialis, but I get points for phonetics.

  6. Ignorant Imbecile
    I hope to God that you find yourself desperately in need of law enforcement one day. Better yet, I hope your child needs help from law enforcement. The cop will save your kid’s life and you’ll bitch about how he did it, and your kid will act like a smartass the whole time. I hope that when your child is being held at gunpoint, no one comes, because the cops don’t want to infringe on your fucking parking space, you ignorant piece of crap.

  7. And you really don't care
    You really don’t care how many kids died in his arms. Do you have children? If you plan to breed, and I hope to God you never do, make sure your children are flawless and beyond all danger.

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