It has come to my attention that I really, REALLY love it when people get their just desserts. You know, when someone is doing something they know is wrong or bad and they don't care - their ignorance is bliss until it comes back to bite them in the ass.
What I love even more is being the person who helps brings a swift kick to their rear-end. It gives me some weird, perverse kind of satisfaction.
Sometimes, if I see someone get busted, I'll give a gleefull giggle. Take the speed demon who darts in and out of lanes in order to make the left-turn signal, only to get stuck in the middle of the intersection and then pulled over by a cop around the corner who saw the whole thing and gives them a big ass ticket. Or the driver who tries to bypass the long line and cut in ahead by using the Buses Only lane, only to get pulled over by a cop who was just waiting for them.
This happens almost everyday on my commute and each time I clap my hands together, give out a girlish squeal and make sure they see my smug "serves you right" look - sometimes I may even give the cop a respectful "thank you for doing your job" nod. Especially if they are cute. I just can't stand cheaters - mainly because I do things the right way and it's not fair if they get away with it when I am sticking to my principles (and usually missing out).
Sometimes though, it's a matter of taking things into my own hands. It's Death Wish all over again.
A few weeks ago, I zipped home in order to quickly get dressed and make my way to Spin Class. As I pulled into my parking lot I noticed a car parked in MY SPOT!
Well that did it. I was LIVID and ready for action. I parked next to it, ran upstairs to get changed and called the towing company.
I pay a lot of money each month to park there, I do not need this incovenience of some fucking moron using MY space when I need it.
So I called Buster's Towing and they said they would send someone out right away - only problem is I would have to be there to sign the car away and I had my workout to attend to. The towing people suggested I leave a note for the person and if they are still there when I get back, to give them a call.
I went back out to my car, planning on driving it to class since I was now in someone else's space illegally, and wrote a scathing note, which pretty much told them that they messed with the wrong person and that if they didn't have the car moved by 730, that I would have it towed with NO EXCEPTIONS.
There was a pitiful little note in their windsheild too - Visiting Someone in #407 - but that only made me angrier. Fuck that person in #407. Do they expect ME to go out of my way and knock on their door, politely tell them that they parked in my spot? Park on the bloody street, not in a reserved spot you ignorant slut.
Anyhoo, the note worked.
Of course, this wasn't the last of my own vigilante justice - a few nights ago, a weeknight, at one am, two blonde, tanned skinny bitches were hanging outside a car in the parking lot with a Kevin Fedderline look alike. They were drinking, being annoying as fuck, giggling like brainless twats and the K-Fed guy kept mooning them.
It's getting warmer now and since I don't have a fan anymore, I have to sleep with the windows open which means their reverberated titters come right into my flat. Even through my earplugs I could hear them yell and flirt and fawn over each other. Who the hell were these fucknuts and why were they disturbing everyone in the neighbourhood? It's a bloody Monday night, people have to work in the morning!
So. I. Called. The. Cops.
This isn't the first time I have called cops on people. I get a sick kind of pleasure out of it. Sure, Friday, Saturday night - be loud, be morons, fuck if I care. But when it comes to disturbing MY sleep on a worknight? No mercy here.
While I waited for the cops to show up, I looked out my darkened window like Mr. Burns, twittering my fingers and muttering "Excellent" and a few "Mwahahahas."
Of course, 2 minutes before the Vancouver PD came around, the threesome decided to take their bimbo gigglefest elsewhere. Then an hour after that, they came back. The cops pretty much came for nothing - but it did make me feel good to know that I could call on them at my disposal.
And then. It just made me feel really old. When did I become Miss No Fun? Or maybe this is just MY Karma for having so many damn, loud parties when I was younger - there was never a party at my place that the cops didn't show up at. Was this my punishment for torturing my old neighbours all those years ago?
I guess Karma can be a bitch - and sometimes, when it needs a hand, so can I.