This, my friends, is the Peachtree Parking Supplies catalog. Yes, we have gone out of our way to get off catalog mailing lists, but when I installed a BOLLARD POST SLEEVE (RED WITH WHITE TAPE) in our driveway last year – to keep us from destroying our car every time we parked – I became a valued member of the Peachtree Parking Supply team.
And I have to say, as catalogs go, this one is awesome. I had no idea you could actually buy actual traffic signs and put them up in your neighborhood. I mean, just imagine the kind of chaos you can cause with these at your disposal:
You can change the speed limit at will, you can make handicapped parking spaces anywhere, you can even lay down a speed bump. It is here where I have to admit something: as much as I like to make fun of Lindsay for being officious, it is I who originally raised officiousness to an art form. When we were kids, I typed up Dewey Decimal System numbers on all my books and created a functioning library in my “office” (the space behind the bunk beds). I loved it, not just because I got to torture Sean and Michelle with arbitrary late fees – which was fantastic – but because I loved the idea of signage you had to take seriously.
Now that I think about it, I probably learned calligraphy not because I had no friends and no meaningful contact with girls – which was not fantastic – but because anything written in calligraphy has to be treated with a fair amount of gravity. I can make a shopping list look like Eurystheus’ list of the Twelve Labours of Hercules.
Anyway, I did find something I wanted to buy: the yellow “SLOW – CHILDREN PLAYING” sign you see near playgrounds. Y’see, at the farm, we live off a state route that is something of a thoroughfare to the Berkshires. Even though the speed limit is 40, trucks barrel down our street doing 75 fuckin’ miles an hour, and it pisses me off. It’s loud, and we always have young kids chasing balls around, which makes me want to blow the truckers’ cab into bits with a sawed-off shotgun.
I doubt the town council or anybody else will have a problem with a couple of these signs on the road, unless somebody has some serious control freak issues, and I can guarantee one thing: I’ll beat them in that category every time.
I know this makes me sound like the dribbling, stupefying NIMBY Concerned Parent buttwipe that screams at “undesirables” as they pass his blue-lawn McMansion. But I assure you that isn’t true. I speed in my car with the best of them, and I still listen to my music loud, and I still like a nice Sun Country wine cooler while getting my chest waxed by the cabana boy with the Pet Shop Boys on the iPod. But I am definitely not into some fucking trucker jack-knifing into our yard while there’s toddlers afoot.
Besides, the Peachtree Parking Supplies catalog has stuff for the real ninny fartypants among us. If you install these on your property, well, sir, you are truly a dick: