I'm very proud of this one, expect me to bumping this one repeatedly to satisfy the attention seeking whore that i am
Subject: Silver Mitsubushi Lancer Evolution IV, 2001 or 2002, in the parking lot of the RBTT in Port of Spain Trinidad. Parking sticker on bumper, small 'Hot wheels' sticker on rear window. A stack of neatly folded black "RBTT" golf polo shirts on the passenger floor mat. Cell phone charger dangling from lighter plug.
Offense: Being affiliated in any way with RBTT, way too much bling-bling and generally being a mid-life-crisismobile popular with Senior Vice Assholes.
Punishment: The parking lot had pretty tight security, but I'm sure yuo'll agree that this target was just too good to pass up. Simply creeping up ninja-style wouldn't work due to the sheer number of parking lot attendants roving about. Worse, this car was fairly near the exit, in full view of two attendants in the booth. A different strategy was called for.
Fortunately, I was dressed fairly well this morning (business lunch date, with ironically an officer from the RBTT), and could have plausibly been the car's owner. So, with my trusty Swisstech Utili-Key subtly palmed, I casually strolled up to the Lancer, humming "Power of Love" by Huey Lewis (Is this getting too far into the role?, I wondered). I stopped at the door, faked an abrupt double-take, and quickly stooped down to "inspect" the door. "Fuck!" I shouted, loud enough to get the attention of the attendants. "Fuck!" I shouted again.
Here's the clever part - with the attendants watching from a short distance, I pretended to try wiping away the "damage" I "found" on "my" car. But of course, I wasn't wiping - I was scratching. Within thirty seconds, a bored but curious attendant sauntered up to me and, in Trini accent, asked if everything was okay. "Fuck!" I said a third time, "some fucking little piece of shit cocksucker keyed my car! Did you see anyone near my fucking car?"
"Uh... no, sir, sorry, sir," he replied, sympathetically eying the savage gashes in the shiny silver paint.
"Well, shit," I spat, kicking the tire in mock fury, "I don't have my cell. Can I use yuor phone? I gotta call the police."
"Oh, uh... ah, no public phone, sir."
"Dammit," I said, checking my watch, "I'm going back to the office, and I'm calling the police right now. I hope they catch that little shiteating motherfucker and string him up by his balls," I growled over my shoulder as I stormed out of the lot, out into the street, out into the general public, out into sweet, sweet anonymity.
- Car Key Boi