Pictured above: an unhappy tableau on Springfield’s near south side, two doors east of H&Q-meister. The residents don’t even look Puerto Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrican. This picture has been slightly retoucht.
The gentleman who came to read my watermeter today had just encountered a neighborhood citizen who saw the City Water Light and Power logo on his car and verbally dang near assaulted him wanting to know if it was legal to park a car on the grass by your front porch. “They think that because I work for the city, I know everything,” he explained, obviously a bit twitterpaited by the acrimonious encounter of the nerd kind. “I told him toe call City Hall.”
I told the CWLP fellow, a nice enough bloke, that it was against the law to park in your front yard. There’s a city ordanance that says so, that I’m with the local neighborhood association (true) and I know these things.
“It seems okay to me,” he said. “What difference does it make?”
“It’s the difference between eating chili with your fingers or eating it with a spoon; between standing on your head in a pew at church or sitting politely with the rest of the congregation,” I replied.
He was distracted by the second example. “Well, I have no trouble eating chili, but I doubt if I could stand on my head at church, not as old as I am.”
I ‘xplained the point is that the ordinance exists for a reason: to limit the disrespect we can display against our neighbors and our excellent city. It’s the same reason I can’t run a house of prostitution from my house unless I want to move east of 11th Street, and that if I wanted to sell meth , crack and marywhanna, I’d have to move a few blocks north to do that. He seemed to understand and with polite pleasantries exhausted, he hastened to the car he had backed into my driveway (without blocking the sidewalk of course. As I said, he’s a nice enough gentleman.) and exited due east.
I hastened to my telephone and dialed 788-8311 and was connected , in a move of extreme propitiousness and serendipity, to a friend on the Springfield PD whom I will not name for fear of staining his solid gold name. He promised to drive by the house I described as soon as he started his beat.
At 2:10 p when I took the picture from the street, not closer than 10 feet from the real estate, the car was still there on the lawn. As Karl Scroggin might say, C’est la guerre!
I’m lucky whan I comes to neighbors. And if I didn’t take pride in the looks of things, as much pride as I can take without a fripping full-time employer, I would not be concerned about cars paked in front yards. especially when the driveway which belongs to the same homeowner, is not occupied by a parked car! When that sucker’s wheels and tires disappear, and it rests on cinder blocks, I want those frippin’ blocks on the driveway where they belong! After all, it’s the (legal citizens’) American way, don’ cha know. JOSE, can’t you see?
Live long . . . . and proper!
