Like some scene in a movie, I walked in to Thornton’s as Sam-I-Am and her partner Beast-He-Be were walking out. After Nick and I had stared at each other like a couple cats about to fight, he said, “Want to go with us? It’s a disorderly-conduct run–it’ll be like an impromptu ridealong! C’mon!” He did not add, “It’ll be fun!” but it was clearly implied. Well, if you read this blog at all (and if you do not, and found yourself here under the impression “Scratchy Glitter” had something to do with girlish craft projects, I am truly sorry), you know that I am inalterably (unalterably?) (OK, spell-check says “unalterably,” so we’ll go with that) opposed to a.) fun, b.) impromptuity (for lack of a better word, and spell-check can’t help me here), and c.) ridealongs. Nick, did you think for a moment that I would say yes just because you asked me? After all, you did not drop to your knees on the Thornton’s lot and beg me (and why not? You claim to have no pride, after all).
MY VERSION OF A “RIDEALONG” MOVIE
The best-case scenario (as opposed to an outcome for me that is better imagined than described, as Saint Augustine said about hemorrhoid surgery) is that Nick & Sam would end up arresting somebody. This would lead to a lengthy sojourn at the jail, with much paperwork, as we still call typing a report into a computer. Of course, Rom would eventually wonder where I was, and would give me a call. The conversation would go something like this:
“Where are you?”
“Um, up at the jail. I’m in booking right now.”
“Really? What happened?!”
“It was disorderly conduct. Nick finally had to do something about it.”
“Well, do you have enough money? Will you make it home?”
“It’ll be awhile.”
I would try to keep this going until Rom got really upset, or until Nick paid my bail, whichever came first.
Stringing someone along for the sake of cheap amusement is actually a tradition in Rom’s family. Although he himself is not much of a practitioner, I treasure a story about two of his sisters. When Sister Theresa was a teenager, she used to complain to Sister Elizabeth that “Partying always makes me feel cotton-mouthed.” So one night when Terri was out partying, Liz stuffed her mouth with cotton balls, got into bed, and waited for her to come home. When she did, and said, “I have such a case of cotton-mouth,” Liz opened her mouth, stuffed full of cotton. The dedication it took to do that, and lie there, possibly for hours, until her quarry stepped into the trap, is truly admirable. And also leads one to think she has the patience it takes to be a sniper. AND SPEAKING OF THINGS YOU CAN BE WHEN YOU GROW UP, MAY I PRESENT…
THE BEST JOB EVER
Stephen Colbert reported on this last night. There is now a practice, called “financial domination,” in which a man sends a dominatrix a large sum of money, in return for which she gives him…nothing. Isn’t that brilliant? It’s probably not even legally prostitution, since no actual sex is involved. So, any of you scum who want to send me money, feel free to do so. I promise to do absolutely nothing in return.