Friday, October 07, 2005

Me and my big mouth

As regular readers of the Brain know, I speak my mind. Everybody knows where they stand with me. There's no guessing if I like you or not. If I don't you'll know it.

Anyway, it's with this attitude I pay my property taxes twice a year . . . in person. It's the one time I can get in my local politicians' faces . . . well, two times a year. They have to deal with me too because I give 'em $4000 at a clip. I also went to school with the Town Supervisor's (mayor's) useless piece-of-shit son.

So, for the last 5 years (10 visits to Town Hall), I've been bitching about illegal multiple family dwellings. We've got big problems there because our tax base is small enough. The schools suck, we don't have sewers or sidewalks, and most of the single-family houses have been turned into illegal, multi-family apartments with absentee landlords. They're still paying taxes for single-family dwellings.

So, I've been on this code enforcement kick. Now, I'm not one to turn in neighbors, that's up to the town when they do the checks they're supposed to do, so I bitch at them to do their jobs. Generally, I get a pat on the head and "We're working on it".


So last week, I'm in the yard walking the dog. I got an old Taurus (my daily driver until I blew the transmission) in my yard, not on the road. I got it hid behind a bushy evergreen so it's not an eyesore and you can't see it from the street. So what do I see on it as I'm walking the dog? 3 tickets. They had to walk halfway through my yard to get to it and put tickets on it. I'm pissed now. Even cops don't enter my yard without my knowlege and these code enforcement rent-a-cops have the balls? We'll see.

The next day, I head off to Town Hall, tickets in hand. I get there early, because the Town Supervisior doesn't park in his assigned spot, doesn't even use the town vehicle. He drives this beat up old Nissan and parks it in with the regular folks because too many people want to kill him. This is the same guy who named a wing of our local airport after himself, the one with the useless piece-of-shit son.

So, I'm there early, parked in the back of the lot, wating for him to show. As soon as he pulls in, I hop out the truck and make a beeline for him, tickets in hand. "You son of a bitch," I say. "Is this payback for my bitching?"

Needless to say, he has no idea what I'm talking about. "They came into my yard to put these on my car," I shove the tickets in his face. I go into the usual, "if I catch one of your assholes in my yard, I'll be calling you to bring bodybags."

"Shut up," he says, snatching the tickets from me and looking them over. "I'll take care of this," he sticks them in his jacket pocket and then looks me over.

"Tell me if I'm wrong," he says to me. "These tickets are all deserved?"

"Well . . . yeah," I agree. I did break about a half-dozen local ordnances by having an unlicensed, unregistered, uninsured car on my property.

"Rich, my boy," I hate it when guys I don't like get fatherly with me. He throws his arm over my shoulder. "You got 30 days to get that piece of crap out your yard or under a cover, or I'll send code enforcement back out."

"Fair enough," I say. "But why break my balls? I keep my yard nice, I don't bother anybody, and I only piss you off twice a year."

He stops, looks me straight in the eye, and says, "aren't you the one who bitches the loudest about enforcing local codes? You should be happy we're finally doing our jobs. We're breaking everybody's balls." He smiles, slaps me on the shoulder, and leaves me standing there. Guess I shouldn't have bitched so loudly.