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Hernando Today

Cruisin' With A VIPER

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Reporter Kyle Martin can be reached at 352-544-5271 or kmartin@hernandotoday.com.

Published: July 20, 2008

By KYLE MARTIN

Hernando Today

BROOKSVILLE Just based on the name, you might think the VIPERs are the featured bad guys in a D-grade martial arts movie.

But the sheriff's crew of 23 volunteers has a more noble, if not sometimes contentious, purpose.

You can find them cruising the parking lots of most major shopping centers checking out the tags and placards of vehicles parked in handicapped spots. It's their job to ticket offenders.

This may sound like a simple task, but the job carries its own unique risks. To get an idea of what the job entails, a Hernando Today reporter tagged along with volunteer Jimmie Scott for two hours this week.

10:05 a.m. Brooksville Regional Hospital

As a volunteer, Scott drives the same type of cruiser as a deputy, but his car has an amber light bar instead of red and blues. He wears a white embroidered polo shirt identifying him as a VIPER, khakis and sneakers. The holster clipped to his belt holds three pens and a cell phone.

Scott is a talker, but it's a pleasure to listen. His rich, rolling accent brings to mind humid nights in the Big Easy, but Scott actually speaks an unlikely patois of his native Bronx and the Carolinas.

Hence Cortez Boulevard becomes "Kore-tez Boolevar;" he explains his philosophy, "sharing is caring," as this, "sharon is caron."

Scott sets a course from the Sheriff's Office for nearby Brookville Regional Hospital. He notifies dispatch that Viper 21 is 10-86 — starting duty.

His laidback style is reflected in his speech, manner and driving. Cars whiz by on Cortez Boulevard as he picks up speed to 45 mph, then swings into the hospital parking lot.

A bank of about eight handicapped spots in front of the emergency room is his first stop. His car slows to a crawl as he inches past first a van, then a maroon Chevy Lumina. Stop. Get out. Inspect.

A blue handicapped placard is in its proper spot on the rear-view mirror. But there's a problem. The expiration date is March 2008.

"That's not good," Scott says. "No sir, we're not in good shape after all."

Back in the car, Scott prepares a ticket. He consults a cheat sheet with all the addresses of his usual haunts: Brooksville Regional, Oak Hill Hospital, both Wal-Marts, Winn-Dixie.

Two pictures snapped with a digital camera provide him with evidence. Then the ticket is tucked under the windshield wipers.

Scott continues on down the row. He's out of his car inspecting another placard when the ticketed offender in the Lumina approaches him. Scott is gentle, but firm. The placard is clearly five months overdue; she's going to have to take it up with the magistrate.

As he wraps up his rounds at Brooksville Regional, Scott shares his thoughts on the core values of a public servant.

"Nobody's out here looking over your shoulder," he said. "Your ethics should be very, very good."

10:41 a.m. Sam's Club

Scott has moved on to Sam's Club. He resumes the slow crawl along the handicapped row. Scott rarely gets out and inspects on foot because inevitably he'll have to walk back and move the car to let someone out that he's blocked in.

A silver Saturn catches his attention. He gets out, cups his hand over his eyes and peeks through the passenger side window. The corner of a blue placard is poking out from a catch-all at the bottom of the driver's side door. It's an unusual situation, "a little out of the box," but it's a ticket-worthy offense.

Scott writes the ticket and continues to inch along. An older gentleman comes out of the store and waves to get Scott's attention. The power window whirs down, letting in muggy air.

"I'm sorry, sir, I know I didn't have it hanging up. Can I show you it's valid?"

Scott thinks. "Yeah, go ahead, but I'm going to need your driver's license too."

The gentleman hurries off and returns with the documents in hand. Everything checks OK. Scott invalidates the ticket and hands the offender an informational pamphlet on the proper use of handicap placards.

"I invite you to take it home, study it, practice it," Scott says with a subtle hint on the "practice" part.

As he turns down another aisle, Scott recalls his start with the program three years ago. He gave out a lot of warnings then, until he discovered that many were taking advantage of his leniency and repeating their offenses. Some of the other VIPERS take an "all-or-nothing" approach and leave dismissals entirely up to the magistrate. Scott strives for a middle ground when using his discretion.

11:09 a.m. Wal-Mart

He continues along to Wal-Mart next door. Scott has observed over the years that, for some reason, people are always running out of Wal-Mart. It's not like that at Sears or Target or any other department store:

"I don't know what the difference is."

His observations continue. Driving in parking lots is hazardous business, folks don't pay attention backing out or bother to take care when he's outside inspecting cars. People often flag him down, assuming he's law enforcement.

No sooner does Scott say this than a woman comes huffing across the aisles at a brisk pace, waving her hands to get his attention. Breathless, she reports that she just saw someone deliberately scratch a stranger's car with a key. The suspect just left.

Scott motors over to the scene. He takes a brief statement, then calls for a deputy. Standing outside the car, its amber lights flashing, he makes small talk with the woman. Shoppers hunched over carts take sidelong glances as they head into the store.

Dark thunderheads threaten rain. The chitchat dies into an awkward pause. A drip under the car forms a small stream that creeps down the asphalt.

Scott checks his watch. "They said a deputy is on the way."

Finally, a deputy shows up and takes over. Scott thanks the woman and sets out for the rest of the shopping plaza, from Bealls to the Bank of America. Then he crosses Cortez and begins again at the PETCO and heads west.

Noon Coastal Way Plaza

Near the movie theater, a balding gentleman flags down the car.

"Where's the closest Hess from here?"

Scott directs him to the one at Northcliffe and Mariner.

As he drives off, Scott remarks that while his assigned job is parking enforcement, he's often called upon to be an information service, tourist service, diplomat and petty crime deterrent.

He recalls an early question posed by a reporter.

"No, it never gets boring out here. It never gets boring." Then one more time for emphasis. "Never boring."

About the VIPERS

The acronym neatly sums up the force: Volunteers Involved In Parking Enforcement Regulation.

About 23 volunteers are qualified to work as VIPERs at the sheriff's office, though there are typically about six or seven full-time workers. Many are retired military or law enforcement. They undergo 32 hours of training before setting out on their own.

Similar to the mission of public service aides, VIPERs regulate handicapped parking spots so that sworn deputies can respond to "in progress" or other immediate emergency calls.

But don't discredit the VIPER's job as menial, says Sgt. Jim Powers, who oversees the program.

"They're protecting handicapped privileges," he said.

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