Time to grumble, again

It sounds so, so, so easy. Just sit down, fire up the laptop, and start writing.

Fuck, if it was easy I’d do it all the time; without stop, without consideration, without fear.

Someone near and dear to me has borne the ‘paranoid schizophrenic’ diagnoses for years now – and on the odd occasion has suggested that I, too, might qualify – but I’ve always thought myself just slightly better off than that. Not that there is anything wrong with being a paranoid schizophrenic you understand.

And now I start to wonder… well, on to more lively topics.

I see that the police in Vancouver, and their colleagues in Richmond, Burnaby, and Port Moody (all areas I bicycle frequently) are still snoozing in their cruisers. They must be asleep because the evidence suggests they are not spending much time enforcing traffic (and that includes cyclists) ‘moving violations.’ Yes, I have seen with my own eyes, radar. Well, lasers, really, being used to enforce the speed limit.

Once in a month. And ‘radar,’ also, once in a month. Come on kids it’s not that hard.

Yes traffic is a bitching point for me.

Cars are held to be special, not because they are utilitarian transport for everyday people just getting around, but because they are cars. The people inside are only important ‘if’ they get a ticket, and then the braying starts, the rending of hair, the funereal wailing, ‘why me?’

Because you’re an idiot.

Here is a good idea.

You speed. You get caught. The automobile is seized as evidence, not released until your court date has determined whether or not you were in fact speeding. Oh, and you realize of course that almost all modern, up to date, computerized automobiles have some level of ‘situational’ memory. Like how fast you were going.

Now, to be fair, you may have been going 60 km/hr but ‘not here’ you say. Except that the cop wouldn’t have given you the ticket if you weren’t here. So I’m all for the direct delivery of traffic tickets – cameras, radar, all the sleuth-y bits allow for some measure of weasel-room.

Speed. Ticket. Auto seized as evidence.

I don’t care if you have 6 children. I don’t care if you need it for your job. I don’t care if you’re living in the bloody thing.

You speed. You lose.

Yes, I even had my share of car-related speeding tickets. 1. At 3 AM, when some cop needed to justify his existence, I got a ticket for 10 km/hr over the limit. And there were a good few I didn’t get.

Now, full disclosure seems called for. I got a few more tickets on motorcycles. And I deserved every, single, one. That why I don’t ride motorcycles anymore. I’d still be trying my luck at speed. And, more to the point, I’d be trying some other poor schmuck’s luck.

Now, back to thinking about my lack of tickets, and my next agonizing post.

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