Late night justice

At 2 ayem this morning I wanted to be asleep, but instead I was listening to a car alarm that had been blaring on and off for 45 minutes. Everyone in the neighborhood must have been awake and angry like me, except the boob who owns the car — guess he was oblivious, or out of town. Every time the alarm stopped, it started again several minutes later. Then it stopped again, and started again. And again.

Why buy a car alarm, if you're not going to be alarmed when it goes off?

I stewed and then said fuck it, I'm suffering and I want him to feel some pain too. I got mostly dressed, went down to the sidewalk, and followed the 85 decibel caterwauling to a bright red late-model Japanese sports car. I looked around for cops or witnesses, but saw only a bum walking toward me, so I quickly kicked three dents in the driver's door, boom boom boom, in rhythm with the never-ending alarm.

Back in my room, I thought that the car's owner might think his car had simply been vandalized. I wanted him to understand that justice had been rendered, so on three sticky notes I explained why I'd done it. 1— Hey fucker, 2— When the alarm goes off, 3— please shut it off. The 'please' was because manners matter. Then I returned to the scene of the crime, and superglued one note to each dent.

The alarm continued screaming, then stopping, then screaming some more, but with an hour of unwind time, plus earplugs, barbiturates, and my noisy electric fan at top speed, I was able to get back to sleep.

In the morning on my walk to work, I went a block out of my way to see my proud achievement, but it was disappointing by the light of day. Puny dents, really. I need to work on my kick. Should've gone for the windshield. The alarm had stopped sounding, though, and my notes were still attached, so here's hoping the message was received.

♦ ♦ ♦

At work, I said hi to Penelope. My plan was to apologize for yesterday, but you know what they say about the best-laid plans. I was sleepy and barely there, and 'Hi' was all I said. I smiled, though. That's something.

From Pathetic Life #2
Tuesday, July 26, 1994

This is an entry retyped from an on-paper zine I wrote many years ago, called Pathetic Life. The opinions stated were my opinions then, but might not be my opinions now. Also, I said and did some disgusting things, so parental guidance is advised.



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