After writing my column every week for 4 years I finally took a mental vacation, but I'm back with a life more mental. Here's what happened on my summer vacation!
In my next life, I want to come back as a douchebag cop. Now, I have many, many dear friends who are cops and are the most caring, community-minded, service-oriented people I know. In fact, they hate douchebag cops more than I because they have to work with them and invariably clean up their messes or suffer getting dragged into their morass. However, just like with every profession, there are the douchebags with badges. And those are the ones who always seem to find me.
Like I was saying, I want to come back as crotch-adjusting, belt hoisting, elbow-on-my-holster kind of cop. Aside from the rush of unbridled power, there must be such freedom in not giving a shit and having a bullet to back up that emotion.
Take for instance a day in my life this summer. One morning, after dropping my kids off at the town summer camp a cop came up behind me and rode the bumper of my sporty minivan while giving me an impressive display of his lights and sirens.
Foolishly thinking he was trying to pass me, I pulled over to the narrow shoulder on the busiest street in town. Guess what? He didn't pass me. Instead, he locked his bumper onto mine as if we were teenagers whose braces got stuck together while making-out in my parents basement just as my mother was coming down the stairs. Awkward and more than just a little bit shocking.
Ordinarily, being stopped by a cop would completely freak me out. However, this time I could feel myself heading straight for a seizure. Por Qua? I left the house in my pajamas figuring I was just going cross town so who would ever see me? The problem is my pajamas consisted of a pair of boys boxer briefs and a tee-shirt that hovered just slightly north of my navel due to all the baby fat I have failed to shed in the last 10 years. And, it goes without saying that I was braless.
Looking through my sideview mirror, the officer pulled himself from his patrol car and immediately adjusted his crotch.
In the fantasy of my head, I made the following imaginary report into my imaginary oversized Motorola handheld, "Headquarters, we've got a douchebag on our hands. Roger that."
Instead, while I tried to keep my unharnessed breasts from grazing in the open pasture of the dashboard I impishly asked, "Is there a problem, Officer?"
(Authoritative tubercular cough that released stale fumes of a recently extinguished Parliament.) "Um, mam, do you know your rear tail light is out?"
Really? Seriously? I'm sorry, but I couldn't help myself and replied, "Not unless I'm clairvoyant."
Did you know that douchebag cops have absolutely no sense of humor? Well, take my word for it. They don't.
"Mam, step out of the vehicle now."
Good grief! My body froze with fear as I saw my friend's husband standing at the bus stop and the president of the school board standing at the corner waiting to cross. Both looking in my direction.
"Mam, I said step out of the vehicle. Now!"
I hesitatingly opened the car door and placed one barefoot on the ground, took a deep breath and boldly climbed out of the car. Waiting to be publicly excoriated, I prepared myself for Officer Douchebag's tirade. But all I could hear as I stared at my naked feet was the sound of traffic passing slowly by. Very slowly.
I raised my gaze to O.D.'s face. It took a few seconds before my brain could process the look on his face. He was thoroughly embarrassed seeing me standing in the line of traffic, in front of him, braless in briefs on the streets of his town. I could feel the power washing over me and I stood there waiting until the transfer was complete. Neither one of us said a word in that momentary powerful pause.
By the time he muttered, "Okay mam, you can get back into the vehicle," I was sufficiently pissed off enough to righteously counter, "No, no, no, officer. I'll stand here like you requested. No problem."
"Mam, please return to the vehicle."
"No, no officer. Show me the broken light so I know which one to have my mechanic fix. Wait, let me just adjust these briefs before I bend down," I said as I exaggeratedly tugged at the little-boy fly-hole.
"Mam, I'm directing you to please get back into your vehicle and make sure you get that taken care of as soon as possible."
Dropping his pen without bothering to pick it up, he ran to his marked car and jumped in without the prerequisite tug 'o the crotch hopefully giving himself a bad case of ball burn.
Now, with the entire bus stop filled with men watching me like I was some kind of freaky circus side show, I triumphantly climbed back into my minivan, but not before once again tugging on my crotch to let everyone know that there's a new sheriff in town and she's braless in briefs!