Clueless Drama

by pjmcbride

…but first, lest you think I do nothing but complain (but if you’re looking for anything else, you’re probably in the wrong place)…a huge THANK YOU to day shifters the other day, for postponing their food order until I stumbled in at 1100, and likewise to a certain merciful and compassionate BEAST who provided a ride home at the end of the 12 hours, and kept his claws retracted the entire time!


Nick sent me a message, saying “I hope my dispatcher won’t stick me with a late run,” and I stupidly thought, “…who is his dispatcher?” before belatedly realizing it was me.


Today was my Black Friday–Senior Savings Day at Walgreen’s! 20% off for admitting you’re over 55, and they don’t even demand proof! So I picked up several small gifts, and then went and got my Thornton’s drink. As I was leaving, I saw a police car on the lot. The officer was dark-bearded, so I thought it might be Nick, but hey, they all have dark beards these days, so I couldn’t be sure. He headed for the lot exit, but then suddenly changed his mind and angled back around, pulling over in the corner. I thought, Surely that is Nick–he caught sight of me and decided to stay and torment me. So I headed for the squad car. He lowered the window (since officers are ever-ready to be approached by citizens demanding an answer to their legal problems), and I realized it wasn’t Nick, but I couldn’t figure out who it might be instead. He looked vaguely familiar, but, you know, dark beards, etc. (When I started, officers all had mustaches instead. People would call in and say, “I don’t know the officer’s name–he had a dark mustache,” and we thought, Yeah, that narrows it down.) Luckily, he was a normal human being, who was endowed with the facial-recognition software I lack, so he remembered who was.

“Sorry, I thought you were Nick,” I said, lamely. “He sometimes gives me a ride home.”

Now I’d managed to embarrass us both–of course, Officer Friendly then had to say, “Well, would you like a ride, then?” and I had to accept, lest it sound like he wasn’t good enough to give me a ride.

“What time do you have to be in?” he said, pulling out of the lot. I then realized he thought I was going to work, in which case I’d have been 2 hours late, and really shouldn’t have detoured to Thornton’s first. So I told him where I lived, and he turned around–at that point we were on Sonntag in front of Wesselman’s–and, wouldn’t you know it, he got a run. I silently hoped it wasn’t a high-priority run, but the dispatcher called 2 cars–I think the other one might have actually been Nick–so I was out of luck.

“You can let me out here,” I said helpfully. (Nick would have taken the bit in his teeth and turned the occasion into an impromptu ride-along at this point. Oh, wait–he had the opportunity once and refrained from doing so. Sorry for my slanderous remark.) So Officer Friendly pulled over and opened the window so I could let myself out. Of course, then I couldn’t find the door handle, even after flailing around wildly. Hey, the other night I tripped over my pants leg. The pants that I’d put on backwards before I left the house. Again.

Soooo, I ended up walking farther than I would have if I hadn’t accepted a ride. This is what we call irony. Nick, you can stop laughing now.

And, to reward you all for sticking with this unfortunate story to the oh-so-bitter end, I bring you a story that’s not all about me…


My caller the other night:

“My girlfriend and I live at the Royal Inn {a decidedly non-regal establishment}. She went to help clean the house of a woman we don’t know. She just texted me and said, ‘Help me! She won’t drive me home.’ So I want to report a kidnapping.”

It was in vain that I attempted to convince him that refusing to give someone a ride home is not, in fact, kidnapping. As I should know better than anyone, now that I think about it.