While waiting, I wandered the perimeter and found a beautiful dark canopied walkway that’s a little neglected. A light afternoon breeze and an overcast sky made it a lot more somber than the picture reveals. It was the pungent smell of vegetation that made it seem otherworldly. Just a mostly forgotten access path that no one uses. In the thirty yard span of that path, I saw two rabbits, several squirrels and multiple birds hiding in plain sight.
Landscapers in the distance were buzzing with blowers and weedeaters despite the rainy day.
As I walked back through, a couple of them walked on the other side of the hidden oasis.
“No manches!” I yelled loudly and then waited. (I used it in the sense of “No way!”)
Both of the landscapers laughed. One of them said, “Los pájaros estan hablando!” (“The birds are talking.”)
Naturally, I had to answer back. “Y no podemos dormir con tanto ruido.” (“And we can’t sleep with so much noise.”)
Years ago, a yokel police captain almost killed everyone on the road as he swerved, raced through traffic, and pulled me over. I was driving across the state because teleportation hadn’t been invented. I was speeding; there’s no question. Not by much, but I don’t think it really mattered what I was doing.
I wasn’t being flippant with him. Quite the opposite. Whatever was going on with him that day, he was furious. Maybe the donuts had made his pants too small, or maybe he was mad that a black man was president. It’s my theory now that he thought I was someone else, someone with whom he had a problem that justified his dangerous maneuver to U-turn in two lanes of traffic and speed back in my direction.
After he threatened to take me to jail out of the blue, he issued me a ticket and ranted. All I could hear was a red-faced anger-management racist on a power trip. He reminded me so much of my brother that I felt a little sorry for him. He didn’t realize how profoundly stupid he sounded.
That’s when I got devious.
I wrote him a very professional letter, one using his full legal name, mentioning his stellar career (it wasn’t), and talking about how I very much wanted to help him with his medical condition. The entire letter was a work of art, building to an impeccable punchline. I mentioned that I understood how medical bills and unexpected medical conditions could impact a person.
I went on to say that I had started a GoFundMe to help him with his medical condition.
And that I hoped that the funds would be sufficient to remove the stick from his ass.
I mailed a version of the same letter to his sheriff.
In that sense, my ticket was worth the payoff of imagining the policeman opening the letter and becoming absolutely furious, only to find out his boss got the same letter. There are some who should never become police officers and he clicked a lot of warning boxes.
A couple of years ago, I was delighted to see that he was forced to retire for abuse allegations.
I sent him a postcard after he was forced to resign: “It’s GoFundMe guy. Hope you didn’t get the stick out of your ass. You’re going to need it in there if charges are filed for what you’ve done. I’ll send you commissary money when you go in.”
I’d still like to know whether he had the enormous stick removed.
“The one thing I can not teach to an officer is how to make the right decision.”
Who do you think wrote this quote? It’s one of my favorites of all-time.
This is a direct quote from a Chief of Police for a small NWA town. One he sent to me in a crayon-inspired email in response to my unimpeachable assertion that one of his officers was tripping over his own ego.
It has a Catch-22 “you’ve-got-to-be-effing-kidding me” feeling doesn’t it?
Whenever I’m surprised by the nonsense of small towns or the misbehavior of police, I pull up the email and read it, still incredulous after all these years.
After talking to him in person, I felt compassion for anyone subordinate to him.
If I had ever been charged with a serious crime, this is what I would have said to the judge:
“Your honor, an esteemed Chief of Police once told me that the one thing I cannot teach myself is how to make the right decision. And if that logic is good enough for someone trusted with the position of managing a police department, what right do you have to argue with his logic?”
I was so excited to see my prison jumpsuit and handcuffs arrive when I got off work. Even though it’s hot, I’ve done my inaugural walk up and down busy Gregg Avenue. I couldn’t stop laughing because I could see people slowing down. I got a couple of honks.
One of my older neighbors shook his head, laughing. “You’re going to get arrested.”
One of my fellow crazy people who works at an inconvenience store asked me again why I haven’t followed through on my prank. I didn’t have a good excuse now that my eyesight is restored.
What could possibly go wrong if I run up and down Poplar Street or along the trail near my apartment?
Most of the FPD I’ve encountered have been great. Executing this prank will determine with great certainty whether they appreciate the joke.
Even though I have much better necessities to spend my money on, I ordered an orange prison jumpsuit this morning.
I’ll keep you posted. 🙂
PS The excursion train runs in front of my apartment. Maybe they’ll see me soon, waving and running. .
We all use shorthand to communicate, even if it’s technically incorrect. That’s what fascinates me about language. Whether it’s the grammar police or people who have a pet peeve about things they perceive to be an accurate or wrong, the reality is that usage prevails over perceived correctness. Even if it makes your heart palpitate or your left eye twitch.
Lately, I’ve been biding my time and waiting. The other day, a self-appointed guardian of the imaginary rules of English stepped in it.
“F.B.I. is not an acronym. We describe it as an acronym but that’s not actually correct.”
“What? Of course it is. What are you talking about?”
“An acronym is pronounced as a word in and of itself, like ‘I.C.E.’ If you don’t pronounce the first letters in totality as a word, it is an initialism.”
Silence and confusion.
“That’s a technicality. Everyone knows what we mean when we call it an acronym.”
I smiled, a tiger trap of acknowledgment.
“Duh. That’s exactly how the rest of the world feels when you correct them. They’re communicating, not writing a thesis.”
“If I was interested…”
I cut them off, making a slashing motion with my hand. “That’s a violation. Improper use of the subjunctive.”
I didn’t even get the chance to say goodbye as the person walked away.
I should have axed them if they wanted to go get an expresso with me. I could of, but I didn’t feel like being pacific about it.
I love the idea that a man with a beard and dressed as a woman while doing hula hoop routines has hundreds of thousands of followers. Meanwhile, a demented narcissist is actively ruining everything he touches.
It’s wild that this world is capable of intense whimsy and such hatred.
I would elect Daniel Middel as president at the drop of a hat. Press conferences at the White House would definitely be more entertaining. It’s also highly doubtful that he would waste our time spewing nonsense and hate.
Anyone capable of self-deprecation and humor earns an extra notch in my book of admiration.
A preemptive thanks to everyone for the birthday wishes. This picture is from 4 years ago, when I was forced into the role of superhero and shenanigans. Other than not hitting buildings while you’re flying, it’s very important to hydrate.
“We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be.”
Vonnegut’s warning about adapting and conforming to roles and behaviors is as true today as it was 65 years ago.
It runs in the back of my mind all the time as I watch people sacrifice agency and personality.
If you dehumanize people, convinced you’re doing it for profit, eventually you are not separate from the organization that financially motivates you to do it.
If you spout ideology, whether for entertainment purposes or views, at some point you become your words.
The positive aspect of this is that of course you can become kinder by using habit to constantly reinforce the behavior you want from yourself.
The main focus that runs through my mind is that people are maintaining appearances and adopting personalities that serve them to make a living. Paradoxically, however, they often find themselves becoming what initially was a facade.
One of my favorite wood panels that I’ve made. I made it as a reminder of youth. And to never be the one on the sideline watching other people find a way to get the crayons and stick them out of their nostrils. I’ve not done well with this lately.
P.S. Parenthetically Speaking 