First of all, this is going to be disappointing. It’s not much of a story. The story part comes in with my furious anger, which hopefully comes through in print and rampant use of the word Fuck.
As young men are wont to do, three of us spent the evening drinking. We might have been doing something else too, but the drinking part was a definite. I can say this with certainty because
1. I walked home.
2. My friend also walked home.
Now let me explain why that’s so crazy.
This friend, let’s call him….aw fuck it. Nothing sounds like Nicanor without being Nicanor. This friend, Nicanor, absolutely hates walking home. I don’t really know why, but at this point in his life the idea of walking home was crazier than the idea of us driving home on, say, a tandem bicycle. In leather short shorts.
But guess what? We are responsible adults, baby! Maybe we don’t buy into the whole bullshit where the one guy who doesn’t drink is the hero of the party. Have you ever driven your friends around when they’re shitfaced? I wouldn’t say it’s fun, but driving around drunken dum-dums isn’t exactly saving a baby from getting smashed after it falls on the subway tracks, okay? So go ahead and let your head swell with pride, DD’s, but just know that my head is swelling with booze, and I’m much happier and (drunkenly think that I’m) more attractive.
So we decide to walk. But it’s not just your average stumble home where you wobble off the curb and either complain about or say how much you miss your girlfriend. This was serious business because it was in the aftermath of a serious goddamn blizzard.
And by the way, winter is coming, people. Isn’t there some kind of fucking law about shoveling off the sidewalk? I know it’s a pain in the ass, and I don’t want to do it either. That’s why I live in an apartment and ignore calls from family on snowy days. It’s not that hard to avoid. That said, if you own a house, get your shit together. It’s hard enough for me to stumble home at 1:30 in the morning without having to deal with snow up to the tops of my ski socks, which I wasn’t wearing because I’m stupid. I’m sad and drunk and just want to pee three or forty times and get in bed, and all this snow that you now own and aren’t taking responsibility for is really screwing up that nice swirl feeling I get from drinking.
I don’t remember what I was wearing, but I remember the wind was hard enough it felt like I was wearing maybe a cock sock like I was in goddamn Red Hot Chili Peppers and that’s about it. Nicanor was slowly receding into his jacket, doing a sort of turtle move where he was trying to get his head all the way in the neck hole to preserve whatever warmth was escaping from his eyes. If you’re a regular reader, you know that I’m no form of man. So I have no shame in saying that I was cold enough that I would have given anything to get home faster. I would have blown Jack Frost if it meant that I could get home faster, blown him so fast that I would forget that his icy dick has that flagpole effect of freezing your tongue to his shaft so that the school nurse has to pour warm water on it. Embarrassing when it’s a flagpole, devastating when it’s a fairy tale man’s cock.
It’s so goddamn cold that there is fuck all going on. No cars, no sounds. It would be peaceful except for me wondering if I could get all Han Solo on Nicanor, cutting open his belly and curling up inside until I could be rescued the next morning.
And then it was cops to the fucking rescue.
The lights went on, and at first I didn’t even stop moving. It’s not the strangest thing in the world for a cop to drive by with his lights on. But pretty quickly we both realized that the cop was stopped, pulled up to the curb behind us and waiting for us to stop walking.
Can we pause for a second? Okay, here is the scene. It’s one-thirty, which is late, but it’s no three. We are walking with purpose, but not running serpentine through the bushes and shit. And we’re walking along a main street in plain sight of anyone who might happen to drive by. We are being pulled over while we’re on foot.
The cop gets out and he’s a fat piece of shit. Seriously, cops. I’m not one to be concerned with the aesthetics of other humans, but I think that if you elect to be a cop that you have a responsibility to not be obese. Part of that is because you should be, in theory, prepared to actually chase someone on foot from time to time. I know that never happens because you don’t really concern yourself with shit like crime, but it would be nice if I at least thought you MIGHT be able to run down children and the elderly. I don’t mind if you hit the occasional shoplifter with your bumper, just tap him and bring him down, but I think you should at least be physically capable of running ten feet without vomiting long johns and Delta Minis. Plus, everyone expects you to be fat. Much like a Catholic priest now has to go the extra mile to prove he’s not a boyfucker, you should be going that extra mile (literally, on a treadmill) to not be a fat bastard.
So Officer Cockhead McShitShit gets out and asks us what we’re doing. What in the name of holy fuck do you think we’re doing? You saw us doing it. We tell him we had a couple beers and we’re walking home. Which was true. We weren’t being loud or doing anything dangerous. We really hadn’t had much to drink.
At this point, wouldn’t you expect the cop to be excited? He’d tell us what great people we are, maybe wipe away a tear, salute, and fuck off. Maybe he’d give us some of those police badge stickers they give to kids who are still dumb enough to think that cops are like real people who know what the hell they’re doing.
He could do all that, OR he could ask whether he would find anything if he ran our ID’s, and then he could run our ID’s regardless of the answer while we fucking stand there like a couple goddamn dildos left in the freezer.
If you’ve never had this done, it takes forever. If you’ve never had this done while you stand in the snow, feeling your own beer piss freezing in your bladder, you could make an approximate guess by drinking from the hose for a good 70-count and then laying down in one of those big garage freezers while staring at a picture of your worst enemy.
He comes back and hands us back our I.Ds. And what does he say? Sorry? Sorry, let me give you a ride home? No, this motherfucker says, “We’ve just had a lot of cars stolen in this area lately.”
I walk on this street corner no less than half a dozen times a week, no kidding, and have done so for more than ten years. I can picture it. Where we were standing, not only can you not see a house, but the only car I saw was a police cruiser that was doing jack fucking shit.
I don’t expect every cop to be Batman when it comes to detective work, but let’s see if you can put these pieces together: IF I’M A CAR THIEF, DON’T YOU THINK I’D BE DRIVING A FUCKING CAR ON THE COLDEST GODDAMN NIGHT YOU CAN FUCKING REMEMBER WITH YOUR TINY PRIMATE BRAIN?
And then the absolute worst part: “It’s suspicious to see a couple guys out walking when it’s so cold.”
…
Is there some kind of Police Academy? I was under the impression, perhaps falsely based on some 80’s movies, that there was some kind of police academy that taught you things about being a police officer. For example, you can’t just take what someone was doing and say it was suspicious, which is why I pulled you over. I saw some motherfucker on a unicycle a couple weeks ago. You don’t see that shit every day. Pretty goddamn unusual if you ask me. Did you pull his ass over? How about a dude who’s just really ugly?
Here’s what really boils my blood and makes me feel eerily like the Unabomber was right: Shouldn’t two guys who have always been on the right side of the law be allowed to walk on a fucking sidewalk without some piece of shit who is pissed off because nobody liked him in high school pulling them over and wasting their fucking time? This isn’t the U.S.S.R, this isn’t North Korea, this isn’t the fucking Congo. Isn’t this supposed to be America? And I’m not even asking to do any of the other reasonable things we can’t do in such a free fucking land, like smoke indoors or sell goddamn Cosmo at the grocery store without some dumb piece of plastic blocking the cover. I’m asking to walk a mile home in peace.
NOT TO MENTION THAT WE WERE TRYING TO DO THE RIGHT FUCKING THING BY WALKING.
Oh, and how sickening is it that you get pulled over WALKING? Walking! Not driving, not running, not smashing bottles and smoking and flipping off every car that goes by and peeing in bushes. Walking.
Your job, as advertised by your dumb fucking logo, is to Protect and Serve. Who the fuck where you serving? Better yet, who the fuck were you protecting? And from what? You protected me from getting home more quickly and maybe going for a second round of masturbation before falling asleep. Jesus thanks you for that one. You served me up a warm dish of total bullshit on a cold night. So that’s something. But I would say the main person you protected and served was yourself. You protected yourself from being bored off your stupid ass.
You could have given us a fucking ride home. I know it sounds insane to say that, which is why police are bullshit. To be honest, you kind of owed it to us. We didn’t do anything wrong, and we could have been home by the time you finished dicking around on your shitty cop laptop. But you know what? I wouldn’t have taken the ride anyway. I’d take my chance going ass-to-ass, Requiem for a Dream style with Jack Frost before I’d ever accept your bullshit.