Staff Columnist

Excessive celebration

Confessions of a reformed criminal

I, Andy Krutsinger, am a menace to society. There’s no way around it. I’ve broken the law three times this spring, a personal record, and I think I may be turning in to a modern day Jesse James.

The only thing that seperates Jesse James from myself is the difference in crimes we commit. While James got his thrills robbing banks around the Midwest, I get mine overparking in three-hour spaces around Henry County.

It’s not that I like being a fugitive from the law. I don’t crave the rush of walking up to my car and seeing a ticket, although I see why some people would be into it. I just simply can’t help it.

I park every morning in a three-hour spot, and every morning I tell myself I’m coming back in three hours to move my car. But it always seems to be a lie.

Three hours roll by, and I suspect nothing. There I am, typing away at my desk, not a care in the world, as my car continues to sit in the spot.

Another half hour goes by, and then another, and then another, and I still don’t remember. I’ve turned in to such a bad boy that I can maliciously commit crimes without even knowing it. Sure, sometimes I get away, but eventually, like every criminal, I get caught.

One parking ticket is $10. I’m no math teacher, but that means I’ve had to pay somewhere around $30 in legal fees to this city, all in the past three months. This town basically runs on my blood money.

If you think about it, a crime a month is pretty hard-core. Jesse James never robbed three banks in three months. So what makes him more of an infamous bad-boy than me? Because he was in the paper all the time? I’m literally in the paper every day, so that can’t be it.

Dr. Dre loves to rap about all the crimes he allegedly commits, but I’ve never seen him out on the mean streets of West Monroe. I bet that beta couldn’t go two hours and 45 minutes without sweating bullets.

So I ask myself, what makes me such a heartless rascal? What is it about my upbringing that corrupts my morals to the point of making multiple trips down to the police station to slip my Hamilton into the payment bin? And is there a cure for my mischievious ways?

I could blame the harsh lyrics in today’s music or subliminal messages in television. I could blame those who have overparked before me, for setting a bad example. Or, I could be a man, and take the fall myself.

I’ve never been about excuses. Never been about that life. I may be an immoral crook, but I’d never blame others for my own failures. I’m not Lebron James.

Actually, I could probably blame the people at Kia. They did make the car I drive, which makes them partially responsible. And all the taxpayers, because they helped build the roads. And whovever is in charge of re-chalking the lines, because without parking spots there wouldn’t be parking tickes. So maybe it is everyone’s fault after all, but I’ll still be the bigger person and come up with a solution by myself.

Well, I’m happy to announce that I’ve checked myself into my own personal rehabilitation program. From now on, I’m walking to work. As long as it’s not too windy, rainy or sunny (I’ve been burned by that last one before), I’m lacing up my Nikes and hiking two blocks east, to the Mt. Pleasant News office. Shoutout to the sidewalks for keeping me off the streets.

I’ve learned that I can’t control myself. When I get behind the wheel of a car, I’m a danger to myself and others (“others” meaning if I take the last parking spot and someone has to park in the 24-hour lot). It’s like once I park the car I just black out, and wake up five hours later in a sea of yellow envelopes (for the prudes out there who have never gotten one, the tickets come in yellow envelopes).

And I’m not just going to rehab for parking. No longer will I test fate by jaywalking. No longer will I put non-refundable gatorade bottles into the box that goes to the can redemption center. And no longer will I have impure thoughts about using restrooms that clearly state “Employees Only.”

Today is the a day for change. A day for retribution. The beginning of a new life.