I can't understand people who freak out over privacy rights. While I don't wish to reside in a police state, if I'm generally on the up and up and only seek retribution against genuine evildoers, why should I worry about the government?
A lurking bureaucrat logging every website I browse is bad. After all, constant monitoring of Murph would unearth inconsequential offenses. No public prosecutor, however, has run a campaign with a platform of ridding his or her community of techies who hack for a brighter future. But, if the Feds get a tip my phone has been commandeered by terrorists, by all means, tap away.
It seems to me that individuals paranoid about privacy issues fret because their calendar is filled with illegal appointments. With restricted supervision, if misdemeanors and felonies are wisely carried out, they assume John Q. Law will never come a knocking.
A target's pristine life occasionally makes enacting revenge difficult.
Because my criminal enterprise isn't for-profit, I can't swipe money from the sushi waitress who miserably failed to cheerfully and judiciously perform her unsophisticated duties, even if I did steal the exact amount my date spent on drinks, appetizers, and various fish rolls and returned every penny to said date in an unmarked envelope.
After two weeks of fruitless stalking, I assumed I would never taste the sweet nectar of payback. Was I losing my touch, or did transporting trays strictly bring out her bitchy side.
On a whim, I drive to the restaurant a half-hour before my target is typically released. Her car in the well lit lot confirms her shift is in progress. I park across the street and hawkishly scope the giant hickory doors. She fails to exit the Japanese eatery at the usual time. She fails to exit the Japanese eatery one full hour past the usual time.
Side note . . . The situation reminded me of the old joke about the two guys who were plotting to assassinate Saddam Hussein. They planted explosives under the bridge his motorcade crossed at 10:00 PM every evening. The detonator close by, they sat back and waited. There was no sign of Saddam at 10:00. 11:00 came and went without incident. Midnight rolled around and still nothing. Finally, one assassin looked at the other and said, "I hope he's okay!"
At 3:00 AM, with one shoe secure, the sushi waitress stumbled out the door and, while searching for her keys, staggered toward her red PT Cruiser. En route, she dropped her purse. She laughed hysterically. Assuming this would be her condition, a prepaid cellular phone rested on my passenger seat. I always come prepared. She lived eight miles from the sushi house, which gave me plenty of time to make the call.
The first mile she drove without any indication alcoholic beverages impaired her faculties. Miles two through five, however, her left and right wheels were never in the same lane.
"The car in front of me is swerving out of control. Hurry before it's too late!" I told the 9-1-1 operator, then gave her our location along with the license plate number of my target. I continued tailing until red and blue lights filled the night sky.
I made a legal u-turn three blocks down the road and again drove by. I discreetly snapped a picture of the human sushi dispenser as she frantically attempted to prove sobriety. Like the stern police officer, I was unmoved by her flowing tears.
Later that morning, partially satisfied, I created a fake profile on her preferred social networking website and emailed the photograph to every person on her massive friend list that included family members and colleagues. "Look who had too much fun last night! LOL!" was the message from "Charity."
Thankfully, no phone call to the restaurant was required as the owner and general manager were both cyber-chaps of my target.
Using the leader of a fictitious anti-drunk-driving organization's profile, I emailed my date the picture of our putrid server standing on one foot. Her loose top, falling from her right shoulder, almost put the image in violation of the strict terms and conditions set by the massively popular website. The caption read: "Due to court related expenses, this sushi waitress will eventually pay $127.24 for every sip of sake she inhaled the night she drank and drove. DWI: You can't afford it!"
I'm so glad Al Gore invented the internet!
