My uncle, with whom I will be spending Thanksgiving and to whom I will be handing his own ass on the ping-pong court, has seen Jethro Tull at least 40 times. He told me this when I was in high school, sometime between turkey and pie, and I was duly impressed. At the time, I really enjoyed Jethro Tull: all that mincing and flute-ing and prog-style-befuddlement---it was the sort of thing that pushed my buttons back in the days of gym class, SAT-prep, and overall dorky squareness. And you know, I still do like "Aqualung" and the good parts of "Thick as a Brick" and that song called...something involving a duck that I can't quite remember and could easily look up online but for some reason, I've decided to ramble incessantly instead---Back to the point: I've probably seen Division Day 40 times myself. I kind of cheated since we've played with them around 30 different evenings, so it's not as amazing as my uncle paying to see the Tull each and every time, but come on, I'm only 25. And, as always, they were wonderful. The tambourine bruises on my hand don't lie. The moral? Division Day is Jethro Tull. Or, maybe not. I might be missing the point altogether.
Anyway, here I am, somehow still on my first week of work, hands and brain in relative agony, bored out of my mind, and it's barely 10 in the morning. Not a good sign. This week has felt like a month, which figures to be especially deflating when I get my paycheck and discover, no, wait, just five days. Looking forward to that. But tomorrow is the weekend and the weekends mean more when you're employed, right? They're basically the lollipop you get after being injected with eighty-five needles at the doctor's: a nice sentiment, just not quite nice enough.
But I'm not complaining. No way, no how. My job allows me blog time, poster-printing privileges, and time to waste pointless retooling a sadly outmatched fantasy basketball team. I've got it good. On the other hand, I was outside yesterday and saw one of those city employees who drives around in a glorified golf cart getting verbally murdered by a yuppie who returned from his lunch to find a $45 ticket on his Audi. And it dawned on me: that's the worst job ever. Seriously. The parking-enforcement guy? Nobody likes you. Your job is to enforce vague signage. It's to ruin people's day. It's so bad that your goal has to be avoiding the people you fine so as not to get accosted for, like most people, just doing your job. Plus: no get-away vehicle. I don't think a three-wheeled, go-cart tricycle can even get to twenty miles per hour. I'm pretty sure I could run it down and push it over and I'm not that fast and definitely not that strong. So, from now on, I'm going to respect the ticket-giving guy, if only because no one else does. Until he gives me a ticket, of course. Then: It's ON.
Friday, November 17, 2006
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Posts
7 comments:
I once applied to be a parking enforcement officer here in Toronto. Then they asked me the one question I knew was inevitable, yet still had no idea how to answer. "So, Ms. Morgan, say some guy is right up in your face. I mean, right in your face. You've written up the ticket and he's waving it in your face, screaming so loud he spits on you a little. What would you do?" I tell the two interviewing officers, repeatedly, that I would speak with him calmly and tell him to take any grievances he may have up with the courts. I thought that was a good enough answer, especially after I said it for the 30th time. But no. It wasn't. They kept pushing me and finally when they added in that the guy put his hands on me, I told them I would take his ass to the ground and detain him until a police officer arrived. That was the end of the interview. And people think having a martial arts background is a good thing. Not always.
Kasi: That was the most appropriate comment ever. Why, may I ask, did you interview? Good pay? Short hours? Masochistic tendencies?
BM: I thought so too! The pay is decent, although it's shift work, so it doesn't really pay off. I was in it for the pension and awesome benefits. And, at that time in my life, I was seriously considering becoming a cop and it's the same organization. Come to think of it, maybe there were some masochistic tendencies...
Good reasons. For the record, they really should have let you use your Kung Fu. Nothing would be cooler than watching a parking enforcement agent get yelled at, standing there patiently, then delivering the super-tiger-punch-of-death.
BM: I'm waiting for the day I see a Parking Officer freak out. I'd pull up a chair and snack on popcorn. (maybe even throw in some dim-mak-like advice).
Here on Spear the parking enforcment peoples like to stand next to meters about to expire with their bicycles parked, just waiting for the countdown. If I see this I like to walk right in front of them and drop a few quarters into every meter on my side of the street (within a distance). I've gotten so many tickets for what seems like 10 seconds of expired parking myself. I know they hate me. I don't hate them for doing their job, especially if some jerk hogs a parking spot all day just to prevent walking a block, but when you stand there and watch 10,9,8... and lack mercy when the person comes running at 1. You Just Plain SUCK! I can't befriend a person that lacks mercy!
I wouldn't feel too bad for those meter guys. I've heard that some of them have wicked skills, like num chuck skills...
Post a Comment