I’m Still Here
THESE CALLS SPEAK FOR THEMSELVES
–“Female walking down the street, kicking cars like she’s a ninja.”
–“So someone was throwing raw chicken legs at you from his car window?”
–“Complaint of someone in the motel room trying to hug the caller’s wife.”
–“Report of a hillbilly inside the gas station at Barker and Broadway, trying to start a fight with the caller.” Being a hillbilly turned out to mean wearing a cowboy hat. You know the lights are always bright on Broadway…
–“Report of a man walking down the street screaming like he’s mad at the world.”
–“Check for a teenage boy dressed all in black curled up in the middle of the road.”
–“What’s my address? Ask President Obama and he’ll tell you.”
You might think these were all the calls I’d saved up, well, since I last posted about strange calls, but no, they all came in a single night. As did seven traffic accidents, all over town, within a two-minute time span. Ready, set, crash!
TALES (OR TAILS) OF THE FRIGHTFULLY IMMATURE
Dinner was brought, once again, by Nick and his handler. He proudly brought the bag in his teeth and dropped it on my desk (all that training is paying off!), then, remembering that I can’t eat with him staring at me, tactfully withdrew and bothered somebody else. Everybody else. Then he returned and–
–stole the scissors so I couldn’t open the soy sauce, but refused to open it for me himself instead,
–threatened to throw my grapes all over the room (and a good thing he didn’t, because I take my food seriously and there would have been a scene),
–and accused me of treating him like a prostitute, in which case he would be high-priced and insolent.
FOOD RUINED BY OFFICERS–MORE COMMON THAN YOU MIGHT THINK
The specter of grape-throwing reminds me of a dispatch party held at Ye Olde F.O.P. Club (at Louisiana and Fares, across from Red Spot Paint–very atmospheric!). Former Officer P.K. (name withheld to protect the innocent, by which I mean me, from the guilty), under the influence of alcohol (I hope, otherwise there’s NO excuse at all) smashed his face into the cake, thus ruining it for us all before we’d even cut it. And I don’t mean he passed out and fell into it. I mean he deliberately stuck his face into it and rooted around. He is no longer with the department, due to another error in judgment.
You know, tales of the old Club could make a whole post in themselves. It would embarrass quite a few people, me not the least.