The Narcissists Shall Inherit The Earth.

My job has its ups and downs. More downs than ups, unfortunately, but my awareness of the fact that there are thousands of people who would give their right arms for the chance to be a full-time, well-paid, union-protected civic employee with great benefits keeps me from bitching too often, at least publicly. But to those thousands who would give up an appendage for my job; a warning, you'll need that arm to do the work I do.

This week wasn't so bad, although every day I leave for work with a sense of impending doom. I wasn't always this way: quite the opposite, really, I used to go in early and leave late, but that was a different time, and you can't unring the bell.

The one glaring exception to "it wasn't so bad" was a call I had to attend about off-leash dogs being allowed to dig holes in a tiny west side green space. The complainant was upset about a reduction in property values because the grass is being destroyed. Okay, whatever, it's my job to enforce bylaws, and dogs must be leashed while in public places, unless in an area posted as off-leash. Pretty simple, certainly not rocket science.

The complainant (isn't that an awesome word?) wanted the area patrolled at a specific time, because dog owners tend to congregate there during a certain window. Hey, cool, we live to serve.

I arrived at said green space at said time to speak with said dog owners. The area is in Kitsilano, and anyone who knows me understands that traveling anywhere west of Cambie Street gives me hives, but again, I had a mission to fulfill.

What happened when I arrived at the little park-like space reinforced every single reason I am an East-Van-Dyke-In-A-Uniform-Who-Should-Never-Try-To-Play-Nicely-With-Overly-Indulged-West-Side-PITAs.

I understand the west-side sense of entitlement that appears to be okay with everyone who lives in Vancouver. I think it's crap, but I understand everyone treats the Kerrisdale, Kits, Point Grey, Shaughnessy, West End crew like they are as special as they think they are. I don't have to like it, though.

It was apparent as soon as I arrived on scene that the interaction with these people who live in the rarefied air of the West Side would not go well. When I got out of my truck some guy shouted to everyone within hearing distance that the "Dog Gestapo" was there. As a Jew whose grandmother survived the camps during the Holocaust, the flippant use of the word "Gestapo" by some pissant with a toy poodle just doesn't sit well. I didn't even get to speak before I was told that I should get back into my truck and go back to the Downtown Eastside where I belong. I told the assembled group that their dogs where not permitted to be off-leash in this tiny green space. I was told, in return, that I had no fucking right to be there, that "they" paid taxes, and they would let their dogs run wherever they wanted. I asked whether their dogs were licensed, and got a similar response, they all pay taxes, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. A Labrador retriever came close enough to me that I could touch his collar, to check for a license. As I did , his owner, a large, angry man said, "That dog is trained to attack on command, and if you touch him, I'll give the command."

Nice. His mommy must be very proud.

It went downhill from there. I told the dog owners that there had been a complaint, and that the city would continue to patrol the area and issue tickets until the problem was solved. That made me exceptionally popular. People who heard the commotion from inside the condos and apartment buildings surrounding the green space began to come outside to get a closer look. I was reminded, uncomfortably, of the scene in Young Frankenstein, where all the townspeople are chasing "the monster" with torches and shouting "Kill him! Kill him!"

Trying to explain that their dogs were tearing up the grass was answered with "Show us the holes." Hard to do in the dark. When I said the area was not off-leash approved, I got "Show us the signs." By then I was pissy enough to say "There are no signs saying 'Do Not Murder', or 'No Breaking and Entering', either, and absence of a sign is not an excuse to break the law." Oops.

That's when they all got into the "Don't you have anything better to do, like picking up used syringes in playgrounds on the East Side?", or " Why don't you get a real job?", or "Aren't you ashamed of yourself for harassing innocent people?" I made my exit then, there was no point in staying.

As I left, and the crowd was crowing in perceived victory, I said, out of pure spite, "I'll see you all next week when I return with the police."

It should be fun.