I also despise people who park in handicapped parking and who are not handicapped (it’s not difficult to get a hang-tag where I live). One day a couple of years ago, I was waiting outside a supermarket for my husband to pick me up because he had dropped me off while he shopped at a different store. This store had a couple of handicapped slots right in the front, about 5 feet from where I was waiting on a sort of covered patio. A 60-ish woman in expensive designer clothes pulled up in her top-down convertible and started to get out of the car. I saw that she (a) had no tag and (b) seemed remarkably spry for a handicapped person. I mean, folks with MS or heart trouble or emphysema often move slowly, you know? I looked her straight in the eye and smiled my nicest smile. I was wearing sunglasses, so I tilted my head a little to make it obvious that I was looking at her (non-handicapped) license plate, and I smiled some more.

She looked daggers at me, but immediately started rummaging around in her glove box, then in her purse, theb in the back seat, shooting me venomous glances. I continued to do nothing at all but smile broadly at her—and it wasn’t faked because I was getting genuine pleasure out of the fact that she was obviously squirming.

Finally, with a wordless huff, she plopped back into the driver’s seat, turned on the car and jerked it into reverse. She drove about 10 feet away to a very close parking space which had been open when she first pulled up. She got out of the convertible, slammed the door, and ran (yes, ran!) into the store without looking at me again.

I never stopped smiling. I loved every minute of it.

It was a small town, and a teeny building and no one really kept locks on their lockers. I didn’t either. I started to notice, however, that someone was using my laundry detergent.

I replaced the detergent one day with a bottle of liquid laundry bleach. I guess my thief couldn’t read either. I found a pile of bleach-stained clothes on top of the washer and no one ever touched our locker again.

It wasn’t even meant to be malevolent on my part, it just turned out that way.

p.s. here’s a passive-aggressive note for you. Those two security words at the bottom of you comments form are barely legible to humans even, especially when you have the lines going through them.

He also made a syntax error and a couple of spelling errors which I fixed with a red pen, and then assigned his note a grade of 94%.

Goodness! We only though he was angry when he left the note about the water bottle.

It takes quite awhile to get a handicapped card or sticker in my state. For about six weeks after I was injured I had no card.

Also, I have seen people be aggressive towards individuals with cards but who “seemed well,” and so the aggressor thought they were misusing a card, not realizing that these people may have heart conditions or other non-visible problems, and Lord knows what being shouted at did to someone with a heart condition.

If you think someone is misusing a handicapped space, call the police. Otherwise, leave them alone.

In some rural neighborhood, there was a real problem with cats wandering around instead of being kept in their own home/yard, getting into garbage, mewling all night, etc… One memeber of the community began to shoot the cats with paintballs. The meaning of this passive-aggressive note became clear when a paintballed cat turned up shot with something heavier and more leaden! From then on, if a cat showed up with a paintball hit, it was kept inside the owner’s home!

A fellow historical reenactor has done a lot of movie work, and he told me about a Native American stuntman that he had worked with. The stuntman made enough money to move into an upscale neighborhood, but he needed to do some remodeling. Since he didn’t have room inside his home for all his belongings, he put up a tipi in the backyard to serve as temporary storage. One day he found a note pinned to the tipi from a neighbor complaining about the “poor view” from the neighbor’s backyard, lower property values, etc… The Native American typed a reply, the contents of which I will not repeat in a public forum, tied it to an arrow, and shot the arrow into the neighbor’s yard! When the neighborhood kids (who would hang around when he practiced archery, tomahawk and spear throwing, etc..) found out that he was a stuntman, ergo part of Hollywood, everything was forgiven!

i used to share a bathroom with 8 people on my floor and unfortunately, not one of those girls cared that their hair acumulated in the drain. Therefore, I was treated to a HUGE ball of hair in the drain every morning before my shower. After a couple of weeks of throwing the offending hairball in the trash while trying not to throw up, I decided to leave a pleasant little note in the bathroom: “Please remember to clean up after yourself.” Sounds nice, right?

Well, obviously it did not do the trick. A month later I was still enjoying the morning hairball. One morning (after encountering an especially nausea-inducing specimin) I decided to leave the following note:

I AM TIRED OF SHOWERING WITH YOUR HAIR SWIMMING ABOUT MY ANKLES.

Not too bad except I had taped the offending hairball to the paper.

I never saw another hairball again.