THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1996, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Saturday, February 24, 1996 TAG: 9602240056
SECTION: DAILY BREAK PAGE: E1 EDITION: FINAL
TYPE: Column
SOURCE: Larry Maddry
LENGTH: Medium: 73 lines
ONCE UPON A TIME an entire metropolitan area was held hostage by the Sureweld And Perpetual Deathgrip Sticker Co.
The average citizen found it impossible to remove old city license stickers and put on new ones.
Some of the people were old enough to remember when one of those razor-blade gizmos with a handle used to remove paint from windowpanes would do the job.
That was before car manufacturers noticed that the razor-blade gizmos seemed to be removing the old stickers in less than three hours and became concerned.
Their concern was slumping car sales. The manufacturers studied the problem and found the cause. They learned that many of their customers had chosen to buy new cars rather than risk life and property by attempting to remove the stickers with household items such as dynamite and blowtorches.
A lot of midnight meetings were held by car manufacturers to defeat the ingenuity of people using razor-blade gizmos to remove their decals. The result was the slanted windshield, part of a cab-forward design, which set back sticker removal to the Dark Ages.
The car manufacturers, the various city governments and the sticker company thought they had fixed the public's wagon good. But just to make sure, they also passed laws requiring that the city license stickers be placed at the very bottom of the windshield - which, given the angle of the dashboard and windshield made that location the least accessible spot on the car!
This made them very proud.
The sticker conspirators were so successful that many people had nervous breakdowns before giving up on the sticker removal. And those who could actually remove the stickers became as rare in most neighborhoods as liberal Democrats.
Still, there were some doggedly persistent people who refused to knuckle under to the sticker conspirators - mainly persons of light and slender frames who majored in contortion in college. They managed to remove their own stickers with a razor gizmo by flattening themselves across the top of the dashboard on their backs like slender Russian wolfhounds.
Crowds gathered to watch these exhibitions. People who managed to remove their stickers were greeted with cheers and wild celebrations, which lasted until far into the night.
Sensing the popularity of these events, several aspirants for public office began to campaign against the dreaded city license stickers. They asked questions such as:
How come the stickers can't be placed on the outside of the windshieldswhere we can get at them with our razor gizmos?
And: Why do stickers have to be on windshields in the first place? Why not put them on bumpers? Or, why not make them smaller and put them on license plates the way that the state does with yearly labels?
And: Why do we need stickers anyway? Why not have a card printed showing the bearer has paid the license fee? If a motorist is stopped by an officer he could just show the card.
In time, the candidates asking such questions were voted into office and citizens stopped fretting over city license stickers and were able to spend more time with their families.
Moral: You can stick it to all of the public some of the time, and some of the public all of the time. Then your time runs out . . . and the public sticks it to you. ILLUSTRATION: [Color Photo]
RICHARD L. DUNSTON
The Virginian-Pilot
[City sticker]
by CNB