My adventures in civilian law enforcement continue, with a sub-theme of little old men.
I am probably a terrible person; I called the cops today on a little old crippled man with Honorably Discharged Veteran’s license plates. But I didn’t see the little old man before I called the cops; he was parked in a permit spot with no sign of a permit.
Last week I staged a magnificent fit at Starbuck’s. I frequently go to a restaurant next door; it’s in a shopping area with really hideous parking – tight and crowded. There is exactly one curb cut in this parking lot, between two permit spaces. There are no curb cuts at the ends of the sidewalk. When I arrived, a delivery truck was straddling the two spaces and had a ramp lowered over the curb cut, rendering it inaccessible. I parked elsewhere, called the cops, wheeled through the parking lot and out onto the main roadway (Pearl Street, just west of 28th, if you know Boulder) in order to get onto the sidewalk. By the time I got back to the truck, a man was trundling some display cases off it. I had a few choice words for him, and he responded by ignoring me.
I went into Starbuck’s and over the long line of people hollered for the manager. She admitted it was their truck, and apologised. I told her I didn’t want her to apologise, I wanted her to do something about it. She and I went out to the truck, and she tried to to talk to the guy, who ignored her, too, until he turned around and said, “Why you hassling me? Go hassle the boss.”
Turns out the boss is standing in Starbuck’s, filling out paperwork. We go back in. He’d like to ignore me, too. “Look,” I said, “there are dozens of places to park illegally in this parking lot – you don’t have to block THE ONLY CURBCUT.” He muttered something about “those people” and got away before the cops came.
And Starbuck’s didn’t even comp me a latte. A bunch of customers told me they supported me, though.