I’ve Keyed Cars. · 6 April 2002
Fucking right I’ve keyed cars: moron in a beemer or urban assault vehicle takes up two spots in a lot, or dumps in the path of others because it’s more convenenient to ignore the parking ticket than park like the plebes, I’d key it. Years ago I would go home from work at five o’clock every day, and I swear to god, every single time, while signalling a left onto 2nd avenue there’d be this Range Rover coming at me, with a woman behind the wheel simultaneously grinning, talking on her mobile, and failing to indicate she was turning right onto 2nd avenue. And then she would. I would have loved to key that car.
Keep in mind this vandalism was not political, nor was it payback for anything, or championing a cause, nor was it remotely clever. It was me performing the duty of youth: to irritate.
Anyway awhile ago we were in Montpellier for a NOT ENTIRELY STRESS-FREE health-related appointment, and – look, Montpellier’s planners must have had a fondness for Rococo patterns or random chaos, because it took for freaking ever to find the place – and we parked Bob (the sensible, grownup Passat) in a totally unorganized-looking lot, perfectly legally, and while we were inside some fun-loving young anarchist decided to run a key all the way along Bob’s left flank as the cross-stroke of a big, sloppy, A.
Which leads one to think about circles closing and a larger form of justice, I suppose. Or it could just piss one off.
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