DjangoDurango's journal

So the other day, I was at The Tomato, a lovely little pizzeria I'm fond of, workshopping my latest project with my friend Jami. Okay, after I admitted that I hadn't gotten my scripts or my layouts printed for her and she showed me the napkin drawing she did of one of our comic's characters, the workshopping pretty much degenerated into just dickin' around and discussing the pros and cons of ZADR. But I digress.

The Tomato lies on Fry Street, which is probably the most interesting place in the whole of my native Denton. As such, finding parking there is a bitch. All the spaces in front of the restuarant having parking meters in front of them. The big ass parking lot behind it costs three bucks a spot. So what do us poor ass college students do? We park in the lot belonging to a church on Oak Street and walk to the restaurant.

Little did we know (though the signs posted at all the entrances to the lot should've been a pretty good clue), the lot was campus parking and requires a permit. So when we finally decided we'd done exhibited enough dipshittery at the restaurant and decided to take it to a comic book store instead, we found that someone had left us small parcels pinned under our windshield wipers.

I'll not hold you in suspense. They were tickets.

I was pissed. At first. You see, I tend to tear ass, so getting tickets is nothing I'm new to. In fact, I'm working on one right now. How the fuck am I supposed to know I was entering a school zone if there's no sign to tell me so? You could'n't even see the fucking school from where I was coming from! But anyway...

After the initial shock of recieving yet another ticket wore off, I actually got around to reading the damn thing. It was only for $35. I was shocked. Only $35, thought I. I've never once gotten off that easily. Of course, I've never gotten a parking violation either. that's when I noticed. The ticket was not the standard City of Denton kind that I'm accustomed to. It was bloody green, for fuck's sake. This one was not "official". It was the University of North Texas who dared to exert their authority on my good time.

Jami was equally upset at first, but as she got into my car, she said, "At least it's not a real ticket."

There was a momentary silence wherein I thought about what all she could have meant by that. I then proceeded to laugh my ass off.

A real ticket! Pshhh! This piece of twatrot ticket came from campus police, not the real pigs! Even the consequences for not paying the fine reeked of psuedo-authority. "FAILURE TO PAY THIS, OR ANY OTHER OUTSTANDING CITATIONS MY RESULT IN THE BLOCKING OF TRANSCRIPTS AND/OR REGISTRATION..." Big fucking deal, officer. That only affects me if I actually go to UNT. Which I don't. I'm currently an NCTC cat. If I went to UNT, chances are I would've had the fucking permit in the first place, dipshit. You sure showed me, the punkass parking violator.

DJ = served.

We sat in my car and had a hearty laugh, hoping all the while that the pompous prick who left the tickets was still around to watch as we scoffed at his pissant citation-giving powers.

This post was edited by DjangoDurango on Jun 02, 2006.