I hate opt-outs. I hate it when it's PG&E's SmartMeter program. I hate it when I'm signing up for a Norton package. I hate it when I'm signing up a kid for soccer. I hate it when it comes from the Marin Energy Authority.
Most of all, though, I hate it when it comes from the curb painting people. You know who I'm talking about, right? Each year, a team of hey-they-can't-have-a-real-job-for-several-reasons-including-drug-addictions-and-below-average-IQs-and-felony-records slimy looking men leave a note in your mailbox about their upcoming sweep of your neighborhood. [Hey, isn't it illegal to leave something other than a legitimate Post Office-delivered item in your mailbox? Officer, arrest them!]
The note indicates it will cost us the princely sum of $20 to have our house number painted on the curb. In order to have our house skipped -- and leave us open to the danger of fire engines, ambulances and police unable to find our house in cases of dire emergencies -- we have to check the box telling them not to do it and leave it taped to the mailbox.
Opt out my ass, man. Stay the friggin' hell off of my property, including my mailbox.
So, of course, I didn't fill out the form. Did I mention I hate opt-outs? A couple of weeks ago, I came home from the project-from-hell to find something akin to this painted on my curb:
I am not exaggerating. In fact, my feeble rendering does the real work of art little justice. The two numbers are askew. The paint of the numbers dripped. And they don't line up. Hi-friggin'-larious, no?
So one of those hey-they-can't-have-a-real-job-for-several-reasons-including-drug-addictions-and-below-average-IQs-and-felony-records slimy looking men came to my door last night and said he was there to collect the money.
I said, "I never asked you to paint the numbers. And have you seen what you did? The numbers are off, they're totally crooked, and the paint dripped all over."
"Well, it was wet on this side of the street," he said.
"I'm not paying you anything for such a crappy job," I said, and then I closed the door which had been opened only two inches, and I locked it, and then I went upstairs and hid looking out a window until he got into a car driven by one of his fellow hey-they-can't-have-a-real-job-for-several-reasons-including-drug-addictions-and-below-average-IQs-and-felony-records slimy looking men and drove away.
Then I went outside and locked up all the loose crap we have outside, like soccer shade structures and tents, because I just know they came back last night to get even.