Wimps

One of my grouchy old man pet peeves is wimps. Yesterday was a good example.

Someone decided they needed the year tab on the license plate on one of our vehicles. The vehicle was ticketed ($75) by the parking authorities. So it is find the title, drive to the county clerk office and get a replacement tab ($2.37).

At the office, the “take a number” dispenser wasn’t working. The mechanism is simple and I was able to fix it and get a number, 19.

Ten minutes later the clerks were up to 18 when this young man came up to me and said, in a whiney, aggrieved, “I am a victim tone,” that he should be 19 because he couldn’t get a ticket! I told him to go get another ticket and exchange it for my number 19. He started to argue. He then heard my “I’ll kick your ass” boss voice tell him to go get a F*&*ing ticket and bring it to me. He did, nearly in tears. The number he brought was 22. I gave him number 19 and waited a few more minutes to be served. He and his woman gave me several hurt looks, completed their business, and left. When my number was called, I was very pleasant with the lady, she was very pleasant with me, and my business took about five minutes.

This wimp was too intimidated to walk up to the counter and say, "Excuse me, the machine isn’t working”. Sheesh, how much courage does that take? I guess my grand fatherly look seemed less threatening than bringing attention to himself. Bad judgment, wimp! Best you don’t run into me at the parking judge office. I again won’t be in a good mood.