Sotto alla Corona
- 2016 (7)
- 2015 (18)
Do you know those crazy mornings, when the Gods of Olympus, the ones of Hades and your neighbours seem to conspire against you every 30 seconds?
And if it isn't your child that decides to drop the crap of the century in his nappy just seconds before you leave the house, is your mobile that plays hide-and-seek around the house, giggling at your swearing. Or a relative with the same good timing of an attack of diarrhoea that decides to call you with some urgent matter to discuss, or even your mother that jubilates from the other side of the phone:
"Hey! I saw this recipe yesterday on TV and I thought of you...."
"What was it?"
"Ok, thanks, gotta go now mum..."
In short, do you know those mornings where you find yourselves putting two feet in the same shoe, leave the house with the same face of a stroke victim and the residue of dried up toothpaste at the side of your mouth?
For me it was surely one of those blissful mornings, the day I got caught red-handed by the metropolitan police's CCTV camera in the middle of a box junction.
I have no other explanation.
How is it possible that I, Mr Paranoia on wheels that parks his car like a nun with a degree in geometry and usually drives like her cardiopatic sister, got caught committing an infraction?
Once opened the brown envelope with the penalty notice, my reaction was
"What the fuck is this picture?"
Let me explain.
Here in the UK they don't just send you the contravention by post, but the charge is always equipped with photographic evidence that usually portrays you in the act.
The problem was that said picture was not proving anything: all you could see was my number plate and a little piece of the front wheel.
"BASTARDS!" I immediately thought
"I bet I was parked somewhere at the supermarket and they took this snap of me to extort some money for the council..."
Hubby, although doubting my version of the fact, suggested that I call the council and ask for explanations, as the picture sent with the penalty notice was not explanatory of the infraction.
I was within my rights to do so.
Seemed like a good idea.
"Ok sir, you can come tomorrow at 10.00 am at the police station and view the CCTV footage. Perhaps this will help you understand where and how the infringement occurred."
God bless British Police!
They screw you, but with such manners and politeness that you find yourself bringing lubricant to the party.
In fact, I was feeling kind of uncomfortable... I mean, the passer by that can see you sneaking into a police station before 10am surely won't think you are going to say hi to a friend, but hey.
Basically I WAS a criminal.
"Hi! I'm here o view the CCTV footage... This is my appointment number.."
"Please sign here... Kevin will show you to your cubicle..."
Kevin was a little boy of approximately 20 st by 7 ft. Basically he was meat tank with hands like pizza boxes.
His facial expression vaguely reminiscent of an Easter Island Moai, same as the shape of his nose.
"Are you from Polynesia?" I ask affecting a friendly air
"No... Poland..." he answers without turning around
As we turn the corner in the corridor, Kevin, the polynesian from Poland, will slam me into the cubicle and beat the shit out of me.
"Please sit down sir..."
In the cubicle there was already another officer in charge of the viewings, he was wearing headphones and had the expression of someone that spends all his time in front of a TV screen, where the only program on show if the traffic.
"Ok... This is the part of the footage that interests you... Do you see the white Fiat 500?"
"Just a second...I'll zoom inside..."
FUCK A DOODLE DOO!!
There, stuck in rush hour traffic, in the middle of a box junction, was a very familiar guy.
His face mashed by the lack of sleep, the toothpaste skid mark on the side of his mouth, the glasses perched on the tip of his nose and the music on full blast apparently.
I was in fact 'giving it' bobbing my head like a bladder on a stick and clapping my hands like a retard.
"You like driving listening to music sir..." the officer remarks without the slightest hint of sarcasm in his voice.
"Yep. Can we stop the playback now please?"
But as I spoke, the guy on the screen lets out a sneeze that ends up in a HUGE bubble of snot on his face...
It was all there i stunning hi definition.
One of those moments that even Our Lord books a seats in advance to watch the show.
That guy was definitely me.
It was a shit morning, but it was me.
Thankfully, the officers didn't indulge in any sort of comments
"You are just a snotty fag and now you gotta pay double..."
"I'll pay you triple and the rest in kind as long as you don't show this tape to anybody!!"
No, ok... This is another movie.
Now, when I drive in traffic and pass that intersection, I am not just careful about not getting stuck in the middle of the box-juncion, but I also check myself in the mirror to make sure my face is in order.
No tomato sauce stained tracksuits.
You never know.
"You know what you gotta do next time you pass those cameras?" my best friend M tells me over the phone'
"You gotta enact the naked scene of the psycho from The Silence of The Lambs... You stand up, pull your trousers down, stick your dick between your legs and pretend you got a beaver... Then wave at the camera... HEY KEVIN!! LOOK AT MY BUSH! AHAHAHAHHAHA!!!"
"M... In theory I should be driving... Idiot.."
"Oh...Oh well.... Then maybe next time you pass by on foot...."
God bless wise best friends.