I'm glad we had this talk #shortstory

I have been parking in this spot for two years since moving into the neighborhood, without any problem. The spot is at the top of the street near my building, close to where the meter spots are but this one has had no meter of its own all this time.

So I parked here again last night. This morning, while getting myself ready for the day, I could hear some noise outside on the street. I looked down and saw some construction workers but couldn't make out what they were doing. I went back to my routine, finished my coffee, got dressed, made the bed, fixed up the pillows on the couch, styled my hair and brushed my teeth. Put my coat on, gathered my things, checked around twice to make sure I hadn't left anything behind. Then I went leisurely out the door.

Down on the street, my head was lowered as I checked for new emails on my phone. But a few paces later, I noticed a lady standing beside my car. A meter lady. She hadn't started a ticket yet, but was getting ready to.

I stepped right up to her and said,

"Excuse me, this is my car, what are you doing?"

She looked up and casually said "I'm about to write you a ticket."

I was instantly looking around for what it was she could be citing me for, while the question was coming out of my mouth "For what exactly?"

"Your meter is expired."

My head jolted back---"What meter?"

She stepped aside, previously eclipsing it from my view, to reveal a brand new fucking parking meter right in front of my car.

While walking around her to get a better look at it, I said, "That wasn't here last night when I parked."

She scoffed and said, "This meter has been here for years."

Fuse lit. I looked from the meter to her and said "Don't give me that shit lady. I've been parking here for years, this is the first time you've come along. This meter went up this

morning probably less than an hour ago. Look, the goddamn cement is still drying on this thing! Exactly how many years does it take for this city's cement to dry? They just installed it, didn't they."

She looked down at the still wet drying cement. Shifted in her stance, lowered her ticket machine and said "Oh."

I smiled at her and said "Yeah, Oh." Then started walking around the car to the driver's side and casually added, "I'm glad we had this talk."

It's been here for years. People talk out of their ass all the time. Most of the time you have to put up with it and be thanklessly polite in the absence of a smoking gun. 

But every so often, you catch them, right in front of them. And when you do, you go to town on them, for all those other times. Because this time you get to luxuriate in the business of rubbing their filthy ass talking faces in the eye opener of truth. After that, the rest of the day, maybe even the rest of the month, is gravy.