Do You Know What Makes Me Mad

Parking Tickets make me mad. Swearing, cursing, screaming, threating revenge on a cop I never met mad. Steam coming out my ears, flames coming out my eyes mad. Shaking my steering wheel mad.

I have actually been productive today. Multi-tasking even. After dropping off my dry cleaning I put my laundry in the machines at the local Spin Cycle and walked down to Underdogg to get an all too delicious Double Cheddar Charburger with fries.

I get back to the laundromat just in time to move my clothes into the dryer. Man is today going good. I then sit down to eat and this is where my day goes south. Two bites into my sammich I reach into the bag to find a napkin (there are none) and manage to knock over my bottle of Diet Pepsi. Onto my burger. I now have a wet sammich and a puddle of pop in the middle of the table with no napkins. I go over to the public sink and grab pulling paper towel out of the dispenser, dry my hands and reach back for more to discover that I have used up the last of the last of the paper towels. Luckily, there were five small napkins next to the free coffee. Which were just enough to leave the table slightly wet but puddle free. I finish my slightly wetter sammich and check my dryers. I have 28 minutes minutes left. I decide to go to the bank to get cash because by the time I finish laundry they will be closed and because of bizarre circumstances I don't have time to explain here, my ATM card has been in the hands of a Greek woman whose name I can barely pronounce. So it is go to the bank or stay home tonight. Guess my choice. I don't plan to stay out late but one of the few good things that has happened to today is that Foti is going to be at Estelle's here in the hood. So off to the bank I go. Now you city dwellers know, we don't have the benefit of parking lots everywhere we go like the cushy burbs do. Or legal parking for that matter. As I pulled into the bus stop that is the only available place to put my car I switch on my hazards, and run into the bank. Luckily, no line. I write a check get my money and am out of the bank in less than four minutes flat. I jump in my car, turn the ignition, turn off the hazards and let the screaming begin. There is a parking ticket on my windshield. Four minutes. Bastard couldn't give me four minutes. Just writing about it is pissing me off again. Bastards. Give a kid a break. $90 ticket. Now I took out a lot of money because I am going to a wedding tomorrow and am putting $200 in the card, so I only got fined 20% for taking money out of the bank. If I would have withdrawn only $100 I would be really pissed.

My laundry is finished and I am home venting into the internet, but before I came to Blogspot to worship I went directly to the City of Chicago website to by my damn ticket, but it won't let me pay it because it is not in the system yet. Which sucks because by the time the damn cop files the ticket and the city puts it into the system and the IT flunky connects the info with the internet I will have forgotten all about the damn ticket and they will send me those oh so annoying notices in the mail.

Bastards.