File under: We’re not in Kansas any more, folks.
My wife and I, replete with extended family, took a trip to Spain this summer. Lovely time. Really, lovely time. Flew into Madrid, rented a car and drove to the north, camping near Bilbao for a few days before we drove westward to beautiful, verdant Galicia. We got married in a little coastal town name O Grove. Idyllic.
I love Spain. But she’s seriously testing my mettle.
Cut to: two and a half months later back home in Park City, Utah. I get this letter by *registered mail*:
WTF?
Apparently a camera and computer decided I was speeding somewhere during our sojourn. 120km/h. Speeding? Apparently. And 100 Euros worth.
I didn’t get pulled over by a cop, get a ticket and then abdicate my fiscal responsibility. Apparently we don’t need cops anymore. And the Spanish government tracked me down through the rental car agency, got my address from my credit card company, and *registered* the letter they sent to me… without an accurate address, t’boot (thanks for the assist USPS). Yep, they ALL wanted to be absolutely sure I got it. Wow.
I know the UK has more cameras per capita than pretty much any country. I’ve heard many a horror story about those from natives. But Spain? Sleepy, wonderful, clean, beautiful, lively, tasty Spain?
This is a slippery, slippery slope, people. Be careful out there.
As REM so aptly put it: It’s the end of the world as we know it…
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