It was one of those Skippy days on the Portland light rail, MAX, listening to two great examples of minor league punishment on the small-small little Eichmann scale – a man and a woman, in their forties, heading home after a hard journey into night: parking ticket enforcers.
I understand the work and words of the working class, but these two just kept swapping stories of the stupid people (their words) trying to get out of tickets, that is, attempting to thwart the sting of the violations in this punishment society. This is the Eichmann of the Small-fry species, in a nutshell, but the way these two stalwarts of retrograde humanity were depicting violators is emblematic of this country’s “it will not take a village to raise a vibrant and safe village – so let the dog eat the dog world prevail be damned” ethos (sic).
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