Pulling into Tescos to use the cash-point I could only park quite a way from the machine. As I walked towards it across the car park a vehicle drove in too fast, parked across two disabled spaces, and the occupant jumped out and joined the queue, niftily, in front of me.
'Excuse me, are you disabled?' I asked.
'Only be a minute,' he said.
I returned to my car and opened the boot, removed the floor cover and took out the wheel brace.
I returned, observed the man take his place at the Link machine and noted down his PIN. As he turned to face me, holding his pristine £30, I swung once and heard the satisfying crunch as machined metal contacted knee cap. He swore and collapsed. I took his wallet, which he had dropped and drew out another £100 which I stuffed deep into his car exhaust, followed by the wallet.
I took one of the small stickers from my own wallet, the ones that say:
I park in disabled spaces when I'm in a hurry
I placed it on the windscreen of his car, in his line of vision from the driver's seat.
I took my own money out of the cash point and, pausing only to smash his other knee, walked back to my car and on to Morning Prayers.
1 comment:
In a somewhat related manner, Ronnie, having been similarly piqued, unleashes a crystalline torrent of Wildean epigrams.
So wittily effective are these apercus that the offender melts, literally, in the manner of the W W of the W at the end of the W of O.
Most satisfying.
Next week, how to make a queue-jumping nun spontaneously combust.
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