5/5: Crossed At Crossing Guards
There are many things that helped contribute to the financial problems Shittsburgh is currently facing, and a number of them revolve around still pretending it’s the 1960s and the city is densely populated. Being an evil suburbanite, I get to witness firsthand one of the many services the city pays for that other, smaller communities get done at less expense, or sometimes with no cost at all to the taxpayer. I’m talking about city-employed school crossing guards.
Seriously, I hate these fucking people. The only authority figures that have less authority than these pseudo law-enforcement officials are mall cops that hang out at Orange Julius for most of their shift, hitting on the one cashier who doesn’t weigh 400 lbs. Now you might be thinking, “come on, kkk, aren’t you being a little harsh?” Sorry, but not only do these people get paid $12k a year for only working a few hours per day, but also they get free health and dental insurance and free vision care, along with paid sick days, personal days and paid time off for school holidays. Now the argument over keeping these people is “but they only make up a small portion of the city’s budget.” Yes, but you get a bunch of these “small portions” of any budget, you suddenly find yourself in the red.
Anyway, back to my story. On the drive home from work I have to go past several of these pseudo cops. I can understand escorting grade school children across a busy intersection, but these people are walking with GROWN ADULTS across streets that have minimal, if any, traffic. My first encounter with one of these people came with a portly broad at this one intersection. Like a good motorist I waited until she walked with this middle-aged woman across a street I was about to turn on to. Now every fucking day that she does this she waddles completely across the street with a pedestrian. Of course this time as she got about three-fourths of the way across the street, and well out of the two lanes of road I was about to turn on to, she stops and starts walking back. I of course have to put on the breaks and the bitch says to me, “I have the right of way,” to which I replied, “Yes, your highness.” A few young males nearby heard this and laughed.
This past week I had my second run-in with one of these people. Before driving to meet “fat ass,” the affectionate nickname the better half gave to the aforementioned crossing guard, we deal with another one of these people at a four-way intersection at some government school. Well, as I was making my usual left-hand turn at this intersection I suddenly saw a school bus with its yellow lights on. Of course, when at the stop sign at this four-way there are several houses that block my view of the left road, preventing me from seeing the school bus until I was in the middle of the intersection. Of course the crossing guard was a big help; all she did was just stand there and say to me in a tone that would sound threatening if bellowed by a real officer of the law, “You must come to a stop.” Well no shit bitch. Maybe if instead of talking to the ghetto children at the one corner of this intersection you would have motioned for me not to turn due to the fact I couldn’t see a school bus getting ready to make a stop I wouldn’t have almost been in danger of plowing down some products of our Great Society program. Fucking bitch. Instead of making that turn, I just drove straight through the intersection and continued onward toward my home in suburbia. Ever since, whenever this bitch gives me “permission” to turn left at this intersection, I inch up a few feet, make a deliberate second stop and slowly look both ways before making my turn. Hopefully, one of these times when I turn I’ll be able to run her over.
The funny thing is, on the street that I live at we also have a school bus that makes its daily stop, and, yes there are school crossing guards present. However, they are not employed by the State – they are parents and grandparents, and they do not get paid a decent wage and receive free health care for performing this service.
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