I know full well, before I even open my car door, that driving to campus and parking in an illegal spot will probably end up costing me $30.
I know full well, when Iâ€™m running late because I want evenly sliced pieces of one full banana in my oatmeal, that Iâ€™ll end up being fined for it.
Itâ€™s not that I have a problem with paying campus parking tickets; I just donâ€™t believe parking ticket ideology perpetuates a healthy and moral society.
I try really hard not to hate the people who issue parking citations, but I canâ€™t help it. Itâ€™s metaphysical; the Earth herself is telling me that the person who is elegantly sliding a ticket under my driver side windshield wiper is pure evil.
Part of what I want to tell you is simply how far Iâ€™ve watched the tangled strings of a simple parking ticket stretch.
There was a time in life when I worked, and practically lived, in Boulder. I didnâ€™t go to school at CU-Boulder (thank god), but I parked on campus all the time to meet folks and play ultimate frisbee.
I must have gotten ten to twelve parking tickets. Often from the same guy, who subsequently informed me that the next time he saw me parked in his lot heâ€™d have my vehicle towed.
This is the first twisted string: brain-washed parking police. I actually feel bad for them. Nobody (and I mean nobody) likes them. And the institutions they work for manipulate them into carrying out their sinister tasks.
This man had obviously been working for Satan so long that he had experienced a paradigm shift, a fall from grace, a literal transformation from good to evil for which the only cure is exorcism.
Let me illustrate this point. Just last week I watched a young woman, obviously employed by CSU to ambush people with parking citations, write a ticket for another human being and secure it under their driver side windshield wiper. She finished up just as I was passing and shot me a sinister look, as if to say that she knew that I knew that she knew I was a frequent parking virus, and she was the vaccine.
She had already begun morphing into a demon doing the devilâ€™s work.
After our eyes connected, and we parted ways, ten uncontrollable violent thoughts flashed through my head. One of which involved a chain, two yoyoâ€™s, a kick ball and fifteen elementary students.
This is the second twisted string: Uncontrollable vindictive delusions directed toward the parking police by the violators.
Even the sanest person has feelings of rage when they get back to their car and waiting for them underneath their windshield wiper, in a bright baby yellow envelope; is a parking citation. These feelings conjure thoughts of pure malice, which isnâ€™t good for society.
This is the last twisted string: Parking tickets brew a psychopathological relationship between law enforcement and the general populace.
In psychology this refers to mental, emotional, or behavioral patterns in a human being as being an illness or disease. For instance, fans of Star Trek who attend conferences and buy a wig worn by Spock in episode 113 for $10,000, are considered (by some) to have a fandom that is pathological.
Basically, parking tickets have the potential to do the same thing that Star Trek does to diehard fans. It becomes a psychological illness, or put complexly: a mutually reinforcing product of a self-perpetuating, adaptive way of life.
By this I mean those of us who continually get caught parking illegally are tricked psychologically into continuing to do so.
I guess Iâ€™ve succumb to the illness of self-perpetuating parking citation syndrome. The only thing to do now is pay the piper, but I donâ€™t have to like it.
Shane Rohleder is a senior communication studies major. His column appears Thursdays in the Collegian. Letters and feedback can be sent to email@example.com.