how i get my simple thrills

let me preface this by stating that i am a simple man who enjoys simple pleasures.

today on muni (public transportation, for those who aren't in the know), a snotty girl tried to argue her way out of not paying her fare.

let me backtrack: you ride muni on the honor system. if you have a monthly pass, you do not need to show it to the driver. if you don't, you're obliged to pay the $1.25 and get a transfer. obliged. nobody is forcing you. however, to combat this, every so often the muni police boards and asks everyone for their proof of purchase. and the ballet begins.

you can spot the farejumpers. when the muni police boards and makes their grand announcement, the jumpers usually ignore them by pretending to listen to their i-pod. when tapped on their shoulders, they look everywhere - in their pockets, in their purses (if applicable), in their back pockets, in their shirt pockets, in their book - and everyone knows they don't have it, but they go on with the dance anyway. and when they finally admit it, they come up with a million excuses, such as "i didn't take my transfer" (which is idiotic) to "i didn't know you had to pay" (which is even more idiotic, considering what in the world is free and there's instructional signs all over the place) to, if they're cute, sweet talking their way out of it - which never works, because this is the muni police, and they're not happy to be there.

so not paying $1.25 turns into a $76 fine.

which is what happened to this girl today, who went through the whole ballet, complete with pouting and "why can't you be nice?" soliloquy at the end - a nice touch.

awesome.

my other simple pleasures involve someone trying to parallel park, especially when they're trying to shoehorn a mini into a spot that would fit an explorer. by the third attempt, i'm in hysterics.

yesterday i experienced another simple pleasure. i bought a shirt from banana republic. i like their shirts, and they're well made for the on-sale money i spend on it. but my biggest joy involves watching the very effeminate workers carefully fold my shirt, wrap and origami some tissue paper perfectly around it, sticker it together with a pre-made banana republic label, and then tenderly place it in a white purse-like banana republic bag that, when i go home, i will spike into the floor like it's 3rd-and-goal with :05 left on the clock.

like i said, i am a simple man.