The Rules Do Not Apply

Rule:  A fixed principle that determines conduct.


SuperK and I were taking a stroll along a busy commercial street today -- "taking the air," to go all Victorian on your ass -- when we came upon a parking cop -- "Lovely Rita, meter maid," to go all Lennon/McCartney on your ass -- giving a ticket to a Lexus SUV parked right on top of a crosswalk -- "burning someone's ass but good," to go all 50 Cent on your ass.  We watched some woman come scurrying across the street with a bundle in her hand, waving furiously at the meter maid.  It appeared to be a "here I come stop what you're doing!" wave as opposed to a "hey, how's it going?" wave.


 Three facts, in the milleau of indisputable: the car was right on top of a cross walk; it's illegal to park right on top of a cross walk; the law prohibiting people from parking right on top of a cross walk is a good law, unlike speeding or running red lights which are really more discretionary than mandatory laws, because people are actually using the crosswalks to get across this busy street without getting run down by your occasional Lexus SUV.  She was blocking the little downgrade ramp to help wheelchairs navigate the otherwise unnavigateable curbs, for chrissake.


"Oh, oh," she yelled.  "I was only parked there for a minute!"


The meter maid has undergone, I'm sure, a lot of very official training on how to respond to people who are unhappy about the fact that they're in fact getting a parking ticket and there's absolutely nothing they're going to be able to do about it.  This isn't a negotiable situation.  The car's in the crosswalk.


"It doesn't matter how long you parked here," she said authoritatively.  I enjoyed the felon's interpretation of the law: "Thou shalt NOT park in the middle of a clearly marked cross walk, UNLESS you're only going to be there for a minute or two.  Under five minutes is OK but really, that's it."


"I just ran in to pick up a package," the felon continued, missing or ignoring the authoritative tone.  She was invoking a corollary to the aforementioned interpretation; namely, "You MAY park in the middle of a clearly parked cross walk if as long as you're just running in to pick something up."


Rita, the meter maid, was unswayed.


The felon was probably a drunk.  She sure acted like one.  We don't think that the rules, regulations, and laws apply to us, and I'm talking about man's rules, regulations, and laws.  We don't even think the laws of nature should apply to us, for chrissake.  I pick up a hot skillet, burn my hand, and immediately start looking around for someone to blame for the scorching.


There's a great scene from the Simpson's where we, the viewers, are brought into a town meeting.  We catch the end of a statement by the mayor, Diamond Joe Quimby, who's gaveling in a new regulation thusly: "OK, so it's agreed -- anybody can park in a handicapped spot as long as they're just running in for a pack of smokes or maybe to get some pop tarts for breakfast."


That's me.  That's how I think.  I'm special.  I'm exempted from all the stuff you, the great unwashed masses, have to do.  I can show up late for work.  I can drive drunk.  I can commit to something and then not show up.  I can spend money I don't have.  


I enjoyed the whole exchange, I'm somewhat embarrassed to admit.  I nearly chimed in to help the meter maid.  I hope it was like a fifty dollar ticket.  That would be a special ticket indeed.