The Man Is Keeping Me Down

I have another confession:

I am breaking the law.

It's only my license plates, and they expired in December, so we're not talking months and months of living on the lam. Still, I never thought I'd seriously consider hiding my parked car in various spots of the neighborhood to avoid The Pigs.

Rewind a week ago: I got a parking ticket the night after Valentine's Day. I fully admit: I parked my car in some half assed, no-no parking spot because I was just running in my apartment to make some coffee and grab my lunch before work. I came out looking like a packed camel when I noticed a cop sitting in a parking lot. There I was, ready for a trek across the Mojave, when he says, "You know. If you were out here 15 seconds earlier I wouldn't be writing this ticket."

Well, today's my lucky effin' day then, a**hole, isn't it?

He asked me about my expired tags as he handed me the ticket, and I said I'd take care of it.

So, this week I paid my ticket and settled up with The Man. 40 bucks down the drain for my laziness (and a dash of wanting my car to be close to home since I really don't heart walking far at 1 AM).

Now it seems this cop has a mission.

I stepped out of my apartment tonight and saw a cop car parked behind my Saab, shining a flashlight on the front door of the house near my car. I thought maybe there was a report of a break-in, maybe some other sexy crime dying to be uncovered inside the home. But no.

It was Barney Fife, returning to check out my tags.

Again, packed up for my nightly exodus to work, I look at the cop and see the same officer sitting behind the wheel of the cruiser. He says, "I told you about these tags," and I said, "Yeah. Sorry. I was going to get to it later this week."

Then he kind of waved his little ticket book at me and drove off.

I mean, seriously.

I work at a television station in the middle of the night. I listen to the effin' police scanner and it's not all calls about people stealing packs of gum or hanging out in the park too late. It's calls for shootings, stolen cars, drug deals and other lovely crimes.

And since I live within the city limits, I imagine this Cincinnati police officer has a little more to do than cruise down my street to check up on my Ohio license plate registration.

Tax payer dollars hard at work my ass.