So. I'm drivin' down the street. Mindin' my own business. But suddenly I can't go forward anymore, even though that's the direction I want to go. And the reason? You'll never guess.
The reason is that there's a car parked there.
In the street. Which is definitely NOT a place for parking.
See, in Kosovo, as in much of the rest of the world, the streets are for driving, and we keep the cars parked in other areas. All kinds of other areas. But mostly we reserve the streets for driving, NOT parking. But not this guy. "What gives!" I thought. This is some kind of different parking!
So I pull over and try to figure out what's going on here. Is there some kind of accident, or emergency, or crisis? Or have the laws changed, and now the sidewalks are for driving and the streets or for parking? But then I see it. The thing that makes me realize the real problem. It's the plates.
Diplomatic.
It's then I realize that the only problem is that this guy don't give a damn about nothin'. So then I start takin' pictures. And that's when the next thing happens...
The thing that really gets me is this one: "I'm a diplomat."
And I'm saying "It's not illegal to take pictures" and "I don't really care who you are--that's some damn bad parking" and "I'm just a guy who takes pictures" and then I'm saying "Take your goddamned hand off me" because this prick actually puts his hand on me.
So then I say nothing because I figure I'm about to blow my top, and I just start taking more pictures. Too bad the pics didn't turn out so good, but you get the idea. And then the guy says something that should really bug you. He says "This is Kosovo." And he walks away.
I'm not sure what he means by this. Maybe he means "Hey, why are you hassling me? Everyone does this here." Or maybe he means "Hey, I can do whatever I want, especially in this place that I don't respect." Or maybe he means "Hey, this is how it is here, and that's how I like it." But whatever he means, it should make you unhappy. Because any of those attitudes is a shitty one to be held by someone who gets paid by your tax money.
Actually, maybe it's not your tax money. Because I couldn't really figure out where he was from. This little cock pussed out and went back to his table, and I took a couple more shots. He was short (about my size), and had dark hair. And his plates were white with black and blue letters: CD 003 ET. But I'd really like to know whose tax money it is that pays this ass, so let's have a little contest. You figure out the origin of the plates, and I buy you a beer. Sound fair? Deal. Lemme know.
And Mr. Diplomat? You asked who I am. I'm not a diplomat, I don't have an official job: I'm just a guy who tries to to follow the basic rules of a country I'm a guest in. But if you get to park where you want, then I get to photograph what I want. So fuck you.
And you NEVER get to touch me.
Moron.
Update: That didn't take too long to figure out. Italy, this moron is yours. Grazie.
