Things not to say to police.
So this morning I was grabbing a cup of coffee. And for whatever reason, State Patrol officers love ‘my’ Starbucks. Any time I go in there, at least four of them are sitting around, talking cop.
I’m not particularly afraid of police. I think of them much like I think of electricians or carpenters: I’m way more interested in their tools than the minutia of their blue-collar jobs.
Anyhow, I’m sugaring my latte, standing next to a female Statie, and I notice she’s wearing a Tazer. I couldn’t help myself: I see that her sidearm is on her left hip - she’s a southpaw. And her Tazer is mounted backwards on her right.
“Excuse me. Do you have to cross draw your Tazer?” I asked her.
“Yeah - it’s the only spot left on my belt where it would fit.”
“Wow,” I responded, “that’s some Old West action right there!”
She just looked at me sideways and moved off to sit with her colleagues. I continued to tear open sugar packets and dump them into my brew, when up sidles another patrolman.
Turns out I had used the last packet of sugar, and he wanted some. Could I hold back? No, I could not hold back:
“Sorry, dude, I didn’t mean to bogart all the sugar!”
He squinted at me, trying to assess whether my use of the word bogart was probable cause. Meanwhile, he started to dig around in the sugar-tin to see if there were any stray packets left in it. He was really digging away, and as always, I coudn’t shut up:
“Wow! Looks like a full-cavity search! You keep diggin’ in there you’re bound to find something!”
He stared at me. I smiled, took a sip of my well-sugared coffee, and left.