Observations During A Short Commute Home After A Long Week


As I’m exiting the building and heading away from the street, toward the garage, I hear some serious screaming start up behind me. A woman’s voice, it’s not one of those “Alice! It’s you! I haven’t seen you in AGES!” screams. More like one of those angry screams that will make people start to think about dialing 9-1-1. I turn and see the screaming woman, running across Ventura Boulevard toward me. Seven lanes of moderately heavy, post rush-hour traffic, and she’s darting out in front of cars without bothering to look. Screaming. “STOP!! GET AWAY!! I HATE YOU!! DON’T!!”

Fleeing an abusive date? A victim of domestic violence?

No, a young (late teens, maybe early twenties) Valley Girl risking her life and going berserk because the parking enforcement cop is putting a ticket on her BMW.

The conversation deteriorated quickly into “I HATE YOU!!” and “HOW DARE YOU!!” and words I rarely use on this site. At which point one of the traffic ticket cops’ gun-toting senior compatriots showed up and suggested either calming down or discussing potential jaywalking, assault, and resisting arrest charges.

You gotta love LA!


Two miles away, stopped at a light on the aforementioned Ventura Boulevard, one of the San Fernando Valley’s homeless population was engaged in a heated and loud discussion with a different parking meter. No one else was around except those in cars at the light, and most of them were making sure that their windows were rolled up and their doors locked. I had the moon roof open and could hear the words, which seemed to mostly come from English, but not used in the normal pattern of nouns and verbs. The obscenities were easy to hear, but not used in a particularly enlightening manner.

I wonder if the parking meter was arguing back, or just sitting there stoically, letting the woman’s incoherent wrath wash over it like water over a stone in a brook.


The whole way up Fallbrook I was following a very brand new Jaguar F-Type. I’ve long ago determined that, in the event of a sudden, significant, and positive shift in my financial position, I would really, really want a Tesla to drive around town. They’re hardly unique here, but they are just so freakin’ good looking, not to mention the next big thing in eco-friendly transportation.

But I hear that the current waiting list for a Tesla is on the order of a year or more, and if I were rolling in money I could hardly keep driving my little Honda Fit. (Not that it isn’t cute and wonderful, but c’mon, let’s get real here!) So in the meantime, I would just have to check out the availability of that Jaguar.

In the meantime, Hissy got me home one little four-cylinder putt-putt at a time. No parking tickets, no arguments with parking meters, and no speeding tickets just on general principles.

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