Rage (Homework)

My life is stressful.  Every moment of everyday.  At work is where I’ll focus cause that’s where the brunt of my stress happens.  Now I’m just a messenger, here to inform you.  You however, don’t see it that way.  What I do for work is inspect cars.  I go out of my way to look into every nook and cranny, every crevice and open space.  Any rubber pieces or rubbing metals.  This is what I do.
But the rules I work by are not of my own decision, if something is 2/32 out of spec its my job to make sure to tell you that this has to be fixed.  But instead of acting like civilized people who are respectful and understanding, they let out a form of rage equal to the power of the sun.
A white truck, just a small one.  The owner says its for his job, seems like a nice fellow.  I do my job and his turn out comes red.  I tell him of his windshield that is out of legal acceptance.  After five minutes of explaining that he has no choice but to fix it he refuses to pay.  I’m fed up by this time and allow my manager to deal with it.  Him and the customer walk out and view the situation.  I’m gone, working on other things.  After a minute I hear “Scott call the cops!” my heart races like I’ve stomped on the gas.  I whip my phone out and dial those three little numbers.  The cop appears “Pay them or come with me” lets just say he paid.
A family’s mini-van.  Dad brought it in to get its inspection.  He informs me that he has disengaged his horn cause his child has seizures or something like that.  A stupid move if you ask me, but I take it in stride.  If I decide to make him fix it he’ll just drive down the road, fix it and come right back.  I mark it in my notes and continue.  I sit in the car and almost fall into the backseat.  His seat is broken, and not in a simple way.  I mark him red for that and he leaves.  Time goes by and I have a phone call, its dad.  Talk about upset.  He thinks I’m a pushover, he doesn’t know me very well.  “I can’t afford to fix that!” he said “See if you can get a waiver from the highway patrol” I reply “I don’t think that’ll work!” “Then get it fixed” we repeat this process for a few minutes.  Me just sending him in circles and him getting even more mad with every lap we run.  He hangs up on me and I smile in victory, I haven’t seen him since.
An orange jeep.  Now this one I didn’t do personally but I was there for the storm it brought.  Daughters jeep needs smaller tires, she doesn’t really care.  Daddy however does, quite a bit.  He pulls into our lot like he’s in a race “Where is your inspector!!” he yells, making over exaggerated hand gestures.  Turns out his inspector is our manager, and he too has a short fuse.  Staying out of eyesight me and my colleagues listen in on the back and forth.  Daddy storms out to his car, arms flailing like he was on fire and our manager on his heels pointing his finger.  He probably wished it was a gun, I know I would “You people are outrageous bastards!!” Daddy yells out “You sir are out of control” manager yells back.  I don’t like our manager but its moments like this that made me glad he was around, makes things entertaining for the rest of us.
 A white jeep.  This one was pretty recent.  Surprise surprise, it’s another jeep with big tires.  This one also came over the phone.  “Those tires have been that way for over ten years and everyone has passed them!” he says with a stern and upset tone “Says here in the book its got to be dealt with” we go back and forth he wants me to pass his truck and I say no.  He hangs up and I never hear from him again.
It seems to me that people like to make me the bad guy, when in actual standing I’m not.  I’m here as a representative, a messenger.
I would like to apologize for protecting you from yourself, cause its all my fault.