Scratchy Glitter

Observations for the easily irritated.

Tag: Police car

I Walk Streets of Fire

“Streets of Fire” by Springsteen came on, and I told Rom I like that song. He said, “That’s because you like to think of yourself in the video, wearing leather, walking down the street as buildings blow up behind you.” Then Nick had to add, “As if you’d notice it. You tend to be exclusionary when on task.” But he is just a scramble-brained beast, so we’ll disregard his insolence for the moment, however accurate it may be, and move on.


…actually, there have been all too many of those over the years, but I won’t bring up the ones that started arguments. Before I stepped out the door today, I said, “I’m leaving. On a jet plane. Don’t know when I’ll be back again.” He said, “You’ll be back as soon as you find out they’re putting you on a jet plane.” I WANNA BE SEDATED!


While walking past Thornton’s, scanning the lot for squad cars, I thought, Suppose an officer–say, Nick and/or Sam–forgot to lock the car? Wouldn’t it be fun to take it? Sure, I’ve never had a license, but accelerator, brake, turn wheel left or right–how hard could it be?


1. It would not be immediately detected, because Nick would have his back to the door, trying to decide on ice cream flavors for his cone (and there is nothing cuter than a cop with an ice cream cone) and daydreaming about seeing his relatives in the upcoming Dragon Exhibition, and Sam would be in the ladies’ room doing ladylike things.

2. Presumably, upon detection, they could jump in the back of someone else’s squad car for the subsequent pursuit, but Nick wouldn’t know how to call off a pursuit, having never initiated one before.

3. I wouldn’t have to worry about traffic, because other motorists would hear my sirens and assumeĀ IĀ was chasing somebody and pull over.

4. Nick would know who it was from the description, since there is no other middle-aged woman with a skull t-shirt and cobra tattoo in this town. He also knows where I live, which might lead to some ugly taser-related incident. Maybe this wouldn’t be a good idea after all.


Sure, Phillips has swish-and-swallow Male Stamina Powder, but what about the ladies? Well, next to the cash register, there is Honey Lip Gloss in various flavors. Reminds me of the time I told Nick that I give out lip balm as favors at our July 4th party, and he said, “What kind of parties do you throw, that the guests need Chapstick?,” thus turning our G-rated family gathering into something twisted and sinister.


At the bus stop, a guy asked me what time the bus arrived, and I helpfully told him. He turned out to have a social impairment which translated to NOT KNOWING WHEN TO STOP TALKING AND NOT UNDERSTANDING PERSONAL SPACE. I would take 2 steps away, and he would immediately take 2 steps toward me again. He’d have shared my umbrella, had it been raining. “Where do you work?” I foolishly told him. “Oh, that’s great! I’m working on being a First Responder! I like to direct traffic when I see an ambulance coming. I did that just now! What’s your name? I’m glad I know someone from Central Dispatch now! What’s that badge? I’ve never seen one like that before!” I tell him it’s my city I.D. (which I carry because it gets me free bus travel, which I knew better than to mention). “Oh, really?” (He leans toward me to see it better. I’m thinking, “God, don’t let him touch me, he knows not what he does, and I don’t know if my self-control would hold.” Things like that can make me uncharacteristically impulsive.) The bus finally (finally!) arrived, and he said, “Hope you don’t mind, I’ll sit behind you!” I’d already barricaded myself with my tote bag so he couldn’t sit next to me. It so happened that his fly was open. Imagine the conversation we would have had if I’d told him.


Only Slightly

English: ice cream cone in the street

English: ice cream cone in the street (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The title is courtesy of my (unpaid) publicist Lynbob, describing me as “only slightly twisted.” Yes, and I have integrated myself into society fairly well, or maybe slightly well, but anyway, well enough.

Today at Thornton’s (that place should pay me for advertising–a year of free soft drinks would suffice), ice cream cones were on sale. I considered purchasing one, since Nick had recommended them. (Something I will keep in mind–I may need to try bribing him with ice cream.) But I didn’t, because I wasn’t sure how to operate the machine. And why? Because the instructions were all in pictograms for the illiterate, and I only understand words. (Nick, it’s dangerous to roll your eyes while you’re driving.) I stared at it for some moments, then sadly slipped away.

On the way home, I stopped at the dollar store, in order to ascertain if Suave Daily Clarifying Shampoo was cheaper there or at Walgreen’s. (How many times do I have to tell you–YOU NEED TO KNOW.) On the way out, I spotted a squad car on the lot. Could it be? Yes, the selfsame Nick, who promptly slammed his car door and rolled his window up, lest I whack him on his sensitive snout. I persuaded him to open up (it would have gone faster if I’d had ice cream, I’m sure). So I got to watch him complete an accident report, one of the most exciting parts of police work. He directed me to guard his squad car while he went over to check something on one of the involved vehicles. Of course, I then thought, What will I do if someone does try to steal the car? I guess I’d give them the frowning of a lifetime, and see if that deterred them.

Report finished, he said, “Sure you don’t want to go on a ridealong?” There are few things I’m more sure of. BUT I actually considered agreeing (assuming his offer was genuine–he is a bit of a smartass <== UNDERSTATEMENT OF THE YEAR), because it would be a guaranteed blog post. That’s how devoted I am to You, The Readers. So if a ridealong with Nick ever comes to pass, which I can only imagine happening if I were to lose a bet, I promise to report on it here. I might omit any tears or throwing up, though.

He ended up giving me a ride home. For the whole two blocks I thought, What if he gets a run? I vividly remember being given a ride home by now-Sgt. S.H. and his partner, and them deciding to speed to the aid of another officer. “You can just let me out here first,” I said, and was answered by the click of the car doors locking. Well, then. Luckily, they/we were given a disregard. For a moment there, I almost had an adventure!

Speaking of past adventures, Happy Birthday to Charles Andrew, my oldest friend except for Rom himself. I taunt you with the fact that you missed some truly supernal BBQ. But that’s what you get for gallivanting–and in locales I once knew, no less! It’s hard to be impressed when my high school team is the Webster Statesmen. We will debate you to death! Gotta love the black-and-orange Halloween school colors, too.

Mildly Amusing Adventures of the Purest Ray Serene

Rain days

Rain days (Photo credit: @Doug88888)

First of all, my most humble thanks to the lovely Lynbob, who is doing for me what I cannot do for myself. I can haz publicist? I would never call myself “the poet laureate of Dispatch,” (though I would post it here for you all to see) but, well…OK, I don’t know what to say!

Enough blushing and stammering. On to adventure! My companions on this day’s bus ride were a young woman with a bright pink Mohawk, pink rain poncho, turquoise pants, and a purple backpack with pink and turquoise trim–and a nun. I suppose Your Humble Narrator, as a tattooed Catholic, was the bridge between the two.

Sign on a bus stop bench: “Suicide is real.” Well, I didn’t think it was mythical. Not to make light of a serious topic, but…OK. Yes, I am making light of a serious topic.

Moral Dilemma of the Day: What to do with my large soft drink in the confessional? It seemed somehow presumptuous to bring it in with me (though I sure could have used it–was it hot in there, or was it just me?). I ended up leaving it on the floor in the pews, hopefully out of the way of being kicked by someone. By the way, you gotta admire a church (St Boniface) with a stained-glass window in the restroom.

Moral Failing of the Day: Ironically, on the way to confession, I jaywalked. In front of a police car. I normally don’t jaywalk unless no traffic is coming, but my depth perception is none too good, and I swear, Your Honor, that squad car just appeared out of nowhere! The officer recognized me and waved, but gave me a long-suffering look, as if to say, Must you? In front of me and everything? Compounding matters, I forgot to mention it in confession.

But I am running wild in the streets, because Nick is out of town playing Army for two weeks, instead of guarding my house like he normally gets paid to do (even though he is the main thing it needs to be guarded from). I shudder to think what he would have done if I had jaywalked in front of his squad car. Hopefully, the Army is keeping him too busy to keep up with these posts. I think my admitting breaking the law here doesn’t legally constitute a confession, since, for all anyone knows, I could be making it up.

Speaking of made-up stuff, doesn’t “Foxy Lady and Conspiracy Cat vs. the Union Suit and the Baby Corn” have graphic novel written all over it? Bad graphic novel, maybe, but still.

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