Dear Parking Services,
My temper has worn thin. My dreams are haunted with the drowning rainfall of little green tickets. In one particular nightmare, I was a scarecrow stuffed with dollar bills, and a Parking Services ticketer was sucking cash out of my fabric asshole with a vacuum. These are the dreams your tyranny has wrought. In the small span of one semester, I was fined with nearly $200 worth of tickets; I had to leave my wife and kids just so I could go slave at the local mill to pay for my useless classes and a Ferrari’s worth of parking tickets.
You’ve got to sympathize with me a little. I’ve got eighteen kids, four mortgages, and a few very expensive bills to some unnamed websites. I don’t have the pockets to fork up $30 bucks every time I park in the wrong lot. Give a guy a break, will ya. I’m late to class, the garages are full, I’ve got two options: 1) park in a space that says, “Only F and Z Parking” when I’ve got a “G” pass, or 2) park on the opposite side of Orlando and journey to campus by foot; I’ll give you a wild guess which one I’d choose.
I just think that you’ve taken it too far. I came up to my car the other day, there were three tickets on my windshield. What kind of Neanderthals do you have working there? A few months ago, I came back to my car to find all the wheels booted– each with a separate fee to pay some hard-hatted serial killer to un-boot the fucking thing. You can see why I have nightmares.
All I’m asking for is a break. I’m a human being. I’ve got a limit, just like everyone else. The straw that broke the camel’s back, man– whatever that means. If I see one more goddamned parking ticket tucked under my windshield wiper, my head will spontaneously combust into flames. Just heed my words, Parking Services, the next time you arrive at your office, don’t be surprised if you find a nice little shit neatly placed on your doorstep with a flowery Christmas bow placed on top.
An Angry Ass Student