I Am a Jerk

Sunday night I decided to drive out to Long Beach and play at the Auld Dubliner's Sunday night Irish music jam. I had a great time and was able to reconnect with some terrific people I had not seen in a long time. Unfortunately, during all the fun, I forgot to have my parking validated. When I reached the parking lot exit, I was greeted by quite a rude surprise.

"That will be $10.50," the gate attendant dutifully informed me.

I felt my blood rush to my face, and the tension build from my shoulders and quickly spread all the way down to my hands, causing me to grip the steering wheel with such intensity that I though I might actually rip it off the the steering column completely.

$10.50??? For parking????

Before I knew it, a string of words like "rip off" and "scam" were pouring from my mouth, liberally sprinkled with words of a coarser nature normally reserved for use in more nautical settings. The righteous indignation which had so utterly taken control of my very being was of a degree that would normally be aimed at black market kidney smugglers, Nazis, and people who urinate on public toilet seats.

While none of my impotent invective was hurled directly at the person in the booth, I am certain that listening to ill-tempered motorists grumbling vulgarities is probably low on the list of things he loves about his job, falling somewhere between the low pay and the lack of bathroom opportunities. Of course, for all my complaining, I still had to pay the $10.50, and I certainly didn't feel any better about it. All that I managed to accomplish with my peevish tirade was to make myself look like an uncouth lout in front of a complete stranger.

Bravo.