An Actual Conversation that Took Place at 2 a.m. with a Police Officer

So I went to my company party last night. It was great. I was a couple hours late and by the time I got there (the Irish Snug on Colfax) everyone was way ahead of me in debauch and drunkenness. And I have to say that I'm very proud of my coworkers. They work hard and they counter that dedication with equal measures of play. I did what I could to be a part of the action, which often manifests in my lifting people. Not uplifting, but actual lifting. I think that my teetering so close to 40 has me trying to prove my physical ability by carrying my coworkers. One in particular, a genius coder of slight build, is genuinely afraid of me. The last time we drank he threw a pilates ball at me and ran out of the building. 

Last night I did my lifts, discovering that many of my colleagues are heavier when I'm sober, and ended the night by terrorizing the newest member of our team. She's a thin, attractive woman who has demonstrated more focus on her work than anyone in the building. That is to say there's a level of integrity about her that might collide with being spun around the room by a stranger. I felt bad about it. I'd lost my social gauge and encroached upon someone who does not want to be encroached upon...with a kind of redneck pirouette ending in a flourish of Braveheart shouting. 

I share that because the incident had me feeling a little out of place. I tried drinking but was more hungry than thirsty. Twenty minutes later I was in a Wendy's drive thru, justifying the midnight meal as replacement calories for alcohol that would have to be consumed by someone else. I carried away my ketchup covered kill to the park just across from our house. I lay napkins across my lap, got the soda in perfect position and prepared the french fries for their rapid demise. I turned on the BBC's feed via NPR. There was a bio on Nelson Mandela. This was going to be awesome. 

I first saw the cop car in my rear view mirror. It drove past me and stopped. And then it turned around and stopped again, this time blocking me in. I continued on the gruesome dissection that a gluten-free disciple must do to eat a perfectly good burger. Otherwise, I was unmoved. Whatever this police officer was going to throw at me I was going to counter in kind. I have baby license. 

Tap, tap, tap went his flashlight introducing his world to mine. The greeting perforated a discussion of how Africans sing songs to grieve. That's a good idea, I thought, and then, in a ill-advised move, I opened my door instead of rolling down the window. The officer stepped back and got serious. 

"You're missing a good piece on Mandela," I told the salt and pepper gentlemen of retirement age. 

"This park is closed you shouldn't be here," he ran together with his hand on his holster and light in my face. 

"I'm in the parking lot," I countered with the inner cringe of a person entering a losing battle. 

I know. Totally dumb. But I felt empowered. I was in the right, I felt. Besides, I have six pounds of irritated little girl who was going to help me take down his protocol of suspicion.

"The parking lot is part of the park and the park closes at 11pm..." and he went on making a valid case. 

"Wait, wait, wait," I said, painfully conscious of a poor decision to argue with an armed agent of peace. "I live right across the street and I come to this park every day."

"It's even closed to the neighborhood," he replied with a resignation that had me believing I had a chance. I needed to pull the baby card. The license.

"Sir, I have a week old baby at the house. When I pull into the driveway the dog is going to bark thus setting off a chain of events that could mean I never get to eat this glorious cheeseburger."

"Congratulations, but that doesn't change---"

Baby license had him on his heels, so I continued. "And that means my wife will be torn out of whatever limited sleep she gets so I'm doing my best to make the world as peaceful as possible."

And smiles. The baby had carried her father to victory. The officer turned off his light. Africans sang in the background. 

"We've had trouble with this park," he said, smiling in the comfort of a brief connection on a cold December night. "We get high school kids doing drugs and making babies in this parking lot."

"I could have used you ten months ago. Now I have to trespass to eat a cheeseburger."

I felt good about that line. For my esteem it redeemed the evening's party faux pas. He laughed. I laughed. The Africans discussed hope for the future. I told him to have a good night. He shared the same sentiment but with extra salutations for my wife and baby. His cruiser crunched away into the cold and I got back to that god awful sack of fast food goodness, eating an illegal cheeseburger in the dark.

Plus I was way more confident as my mustachioed alter ego Chet.

Comments

[Random]

LOL! That mustache had the cops thinking you were one of their own!