Ah, good RHUers, I come today with the story of the Handicapped Parking Douchbag. They have very distinctive calls, such as "Fix-this!", "But-I-was-in-a-hurry!", and my all time favorite, "Don't-you-know-who-I-am?!?", usually accompanied with a nice hefty ticket in the neighborhood of $400.
One time, I got one of these come to the office. Our interaction began when he flung an offending handicapped parking ticket in my general direction. The lovely tickets handed out at my building are issued by the city, and they come with a nice letterhead in the upper left corner with the name of the city and a nice city seal to go with it in a pretty blue.
Me, I don't work for the city. I work for a private company, with the name of that company proudly displayed on my trained monkey suit. The company logo, and the city seal cannot be mistaken for each other as they have very, very dissimilar shapes.
"Fix-this", without preamble spurts forth from the pie hole of this douchestain.
The skid mark standing before me is wearing some very nice slacks as well as a maroon tie over a powder blue shirt. Definitely not down or out by any stretch of the imagination. I retrieve the ticket from where it has fallen, and paper tickets have less aerodynamics than this jackass has reading skill.
As I look at the ticket, I notice that the vehicle driven by this asshat is a nice late model piece of engineering from Bayerische Motoren Werke, or BMW. Not a shabby ride. I then proceed to explain what the difference between a private company and the motherfucking city is to this vaccuous hump.
Then the tone shifts to pleading with the standard, "But-I-was-in-a-hurry." Unfortunately still devoid of understanding that no, I can't and most assuredly won't do anything whatsoever for you, asshat.
By this point, my eyeballs are itching from all the effort I'm making to keep them from rolling around in their sockets like pachinko balls during an earthquake. This time I start using visual cues, like holding the logo of the ticket right next to my company logo to clearly illustrate what I am trying to say. Finally I see what I believe is a spark to pass the lizard like hind-brain.
Hope then dies with the return of haughty jackassery: "Don't-you-know-who-I-am?!?"
In all honesty, I don't know, and most assuredly do not care. By the tone, I'll assume either doctor or lawyer who has delusions of their own importance. Unfortunately, I cannot tell this cumstain any of that, and instead am forced to reassure the shithead that the city obviously did not know the he was the recipient of the ticket.
Dipshit then wails, "But what am I supposed to do?"
Using my amazing skills of common sense, honed over years of dealing with taint-sacs like him, and turn over the offending ticket. Lo and behold, on the back of the ticket are instructions on how mail in a check, set up a court date, as well as why they are able to issue the ticket in the first place. Cockbreath then grumbles and groans his way out of the office, loudly protesting the fate of actually having to cede handicapped parking spaces to those that need them.
I bid you all adieu, with the wishes that your custies be sane, your co-workers be competent, and your managers be useful.