Freakuency

I've taken to calling-out people doing rude and dumb things in public. Recently, at Swapper Jack's, a man's left arm crossed my face to reach for a chutney. It wasn't preceded with any sort of "Excuse me," nor a "pardon, I'm sorry, but there's one guy here who needs some mango chutney on the regular, and it ain't YOU, mang." THAT I'd-a be down fo'.

So I said, about 6 inches from his untrimmed ear:
"Do you need to get in here, sir?"

He said nothing, paused, then beat a retreat with what I can only assume is a life-changing mincemeat of mango, bell pepper, honey, and exotic spices.

Today at the Post Office - which I openly mock because I'm comfortable knowing I will NEVER work there - I was 6th in line when a chick in pig tails, yoga pants, flip-flaps, and a hoodie cut the line to ask a cage worker "Um, like, hiii, can I ask a question?"
(Cage worker was helping somebody who was rather stunned)
The cage worker said "mmmhmmm" or some sort of affirmation.

Dipshit asked "My friend left her diary here a while ago, like, do you have a Lost & Found? It was like 2 weeks ago I think?"

Okay, nobody said anything.
The problem is now everybody's issue. Because this isn't a transaction that will benefit the USPS, and will only hold everything else up, and I'll be Catholic Priest-tickled if that shit's happening when I'm in the building.

And I start to think, "Will Cage Worker take a break from the line and go look for the journal of this dipshit's dipshit friend? NOOOOO, she wouldn't. That would be like Customer Service, and the Post Office ain't that."

Well, she DID go look. For about 5minutes, which is 30minutes in Post Office time. I moved to 4th in line. Journal not found.
Dipshit in PigTails starts asking questions about "Could you look again? Are there ANY books?" and this is WAAAAAAY over the limit...
SO I SAY...

"Excuse me, excuse me? Miss, in the sweatshirt?" Now everyone's looking at me. And I will admit, I FELT VERY MUCH ALIVE.

"Um, yeeeah?"

"We're all waiting in line to do business here, your friend's journal's gone. We need to get going here, okay? Sorry."

Everyone's acting like it wasn't said, except me, Dipshirt, and Cage Worker. Dipshirt takes a second, glances around, acts all butt-hurt, sighs, and says "Thanks" to the Cage Worker and flaps-off out the branch.


YOU'RE WELCOME, WEST HOLLYWOOD POST OFFICE.

Say something. Especially when somebody's doing something wrong and it's hurting the community and if needed, you could kick their ass.

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Who Watches The Watchers?

Just read an article about how our society and communities, more and more, are becoming "Big Brother-ized." Cameras everywhere, paranoia-induced lawfulness!

Cameras are there to get the rulebreakers, right? The thugs and thieves and jay-walkers.
Why do we need this?

Because for too long, our society has taken it too easy on crime. We watch something happen, unarmed, and then call the po-leece. They show up, sometimes too late, and get their questioning on. Statements be droppin', y'all. Witness with eyes and all 'at.

And because we, as a society, didn't exact a little vigilante justice and drill some purse-snatcher in the legs with a bat or a bullet or a Dodge Hemi Crew-Cab. Purse gets returned, guy gets the corn kicked outta that wasted vessel of a reality-tv-addled carcass, dragged behind a dumpster, peed-upon, then the cops get called.

And for good reason. Lot of psychos out there, gotta make sure they aren't gettin' away with nothin'.

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It's "Just Us" in Justice

I truly wish we could live in a world where we do not need a police service.

But we do.

Because we do not have enough people like Mr. Horn, represented in the article linked here.

Mr. Horn, his mental capacity up for some debate (and the fact that he called Sept. 11 "September the 1st"), took into his own hands the matter of stopping two burglars. They had broken into the neighbor's house next door, and Mr. Horn, calmly and rationally, while on the phone with 9-1-1 (not 9-1) decided to take his shotgun out to make sure somebody paid for the crime.

Now, I'm not saying you should go get a shotgun and sit and wait and watch your neighbor's property when they're gone. Maybe a decent .22 would do the trick for you. Or, EEEESH, get some of those shells that are full of rocksalt, OUCH, right?

But what I'm saying is that in many instances, it is far better to Do and Then Apologize, than to ask for permission when you know you'll be denied. Mr. Horn put himself in a dangerous position. I don't think of him as a hero, nor do I think of him as a criminal. I think of him as the kind of guy who I would like guarding my property if I'm on a 9-day outbounder. And in turn, I will help him bury one large bag per year, no questions asked.

Make up your own mind, decide what you like, but I swear that I would uncork some damage artillery if I awoke to find somebody snipping from my wife's rosemary, UNINVITED.

Shit would get handled, FOR REALS.

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My Blog About My Dad