Ruffled feathers

Last Saturday, my weekend got ruined when I was notified at 11 a.m. Friday morning that I had to work Saturday afternoon and evening due to a visit by William Jefferson "Slick Willy" Clinton. We had our briefing, and the command officer mentioned that there was no designated VIP parking. Ha! I immediately saw my opportunity to make the night worthwhile. I intentionally stood at a location so that I was the first person the public would meet when they pulled into the parking lot. Why? Imagine the pleasure felt when a county commissioner pulled up with his wife, stops next to me, rolls down his window, and asks, "Where's the VIP parking?" To which I respond, "Supposed VIP's park in the same location as the general public." I got to say this to two county commissioners, three city councilmembers, a district court judge, a superior court judge, and various other people high on the socio-economic ladder. What fun! But it got even better. These alleged VIP's then thought there was a VIP seating section inside the establishment. Surprise! They had to stand in line like everybody else. It was great.

Why was it great! Because all of these people who pulled up and asked about VIP parking feel some sort of entitlement, and they feel that they deserve more than the average person. The very concept of the Very Important Person is rediculous when it is metted out to the same select group of people, event after event.

Unless you have figured out how to get shit to magically vaporize, you wipe your ass the same way I do. VIP? Whatever.