You know, I don’t condone vigilante justice.
Pffffftttt. Who am I kidding? Of course I do. While I’m waiting behind you and your 34 items in the 10 items or less lane, I daydream that the checkout clerk will be Charles Bronson. I wish every third person was Clint Eastwood. Admit it, you do too.
It’s just that we have better manners than douchebags. We’ve been trained from birth to mind our own business, and go along to get along. We’ve been instructed that the police are supposed to handle everything, and if we take matters in our own hands, we’re worse than criminals. I have my doubts on that score. There’s a certain point where acquiescence makes you a de facto accomplice. The world only has so many cheeks to turn, and then it’s time for decent people to say enough’s enough.
Of course true vigilante justice requires a certain amount of restraint. You can’t just bust out the brass knuckles because someone looked at you funny on the subway. There’s a big difference between a posse and a lynch mob. If you think any infraction, no matter how minor, opens a limitless supply of consequences from the Pandora’s Box of vigilantism, then you become the problem, and you deserve some vigilante justice of your own.
I think we can all agree that driving your car down the sidewalk because you’re in a hurry merits disapproval. Active disapproval. Apparently, in Russia, they’re living in Mad Max times, and driving down the sidewalk is a “thing.” These guys show you how to enforce good citizenship without overreaching. They’re brave, that’s for sure, and aren’t shrinking violets, but they are always willing to deescalate if the douchebag is, too. A hard-to-remove-sticker is an annoyance, not an assault, and the only thing to get hurt would be your pride, if you just admitted your bad manners and returned to the roadway where you belong.
And learned how to drive in reverse.