There’s not a lot to do where I am on a Thursday night when softball is rained out, but thankfully, the Blues were on the television tonight! The Blues are a professional ice hockey team right here in St. Louis, for those of you who live in a cave or Ireland or whatever.
NHL playoff hockey rocks! I did not want to stay up late tonight, but the game didn’t start until 8:30, so there was no option. For the duration of the Blues playoff run, which is normally very short, I’m an honorary Canadian. It’s all hockey, gettin’ drunk and saying eh? whenever I can for me, eh?
Where’s my Kiss Me I’m Canadian shirt, honey?? Ah, that’s right, it’s stained with syrup, semen and moose shit still from my last foray into Canadian role playing during the great Shania Twain run of the late 1990’s. That’s ok.
Long story short, I
drank I’m drinking many beers and the Blues won, so let’s move on!
I’m fairly buzzed from drinking on my couch all night, so I’m just typing whatever I feel like for a few minutes.
I’ve been thinking about getting back on the streets as a police officer lately. Not because I want to, necessarily, but it’s been in my head. The blog material alone would be unbelievable.
One of the cool things about being a police officer was that I met literally thousands of different people over the years.
I was allowed into many of their homes and into their personal lives, whether they liked it or not.
We are “invited” into your homes before you’ve had a chance to clean up after the kids. We’re called when mom and dad are fighting or mom can’t control her teenager and wants the police to do it for her or because your dog has been barking all night and your neighbor is finally tired of it. We show up oftentimes when you’re not expecting us, so we catch you off guard and in your natural state, so to speak.
It was always interesting to me how people kept their homes or what they were eating for dinner when all hell broke loose. Silly as it seems, I noticed such things.
Can you imagine? There have been times when people’s family members were mother fucking each other and I’d be looking at shit on the kitchen table and thinking to myself huh, I wonder if I can take these pork chops and have them for dinner since everyone in this house is going to be in jail tonight. They look great.
Ha, no, I’m kidding?
I’ve been in near million dollar homes that were disgusting messes, clearly not well maintained. I’ve been in apartments in the projects that were beautifully kept and tended to with care. I remember once going into a Section 8 apartment that was pretty shitty looking on the outside and around the grounds, but this woman kept a clean home. She had lovely photos and some art hanging on the walls and African masks and tapestries all over but neatly displayed; it was really a cool place.
The reason I remember the apartment is because as soon as I walked in, my nose was met with the most wonderfully smelling savory dish I’ve ever known. I remember speaking to this woman about whatever it was I was there for (I can’t remember the type of call, it was a false alarm going off I think) and having to ask her before I left, just what it was that she was cooking.
“Ox tails, child! You never had no ox tail?!” I remember her saying.
She was genuinely shocked when I told her I hadn’t and was getting a bowl and spoon out without even thinking about it before I could insist that I had just eaten and wouldn’t be able to enjoy her food today.
She wasn’t the first to offer me something to eat on a call. I always hated to turn that shit down and sound like I was being a dick, but come on, who wouldn’t want to spit on some food and give it to a cop, right? People can be gross, so not eating at strangers’ homes is a good policy.
“Every Sunday I eat this,” she said. “You come back anytime ‘bout this time and I’ll have some for ya.”
Of course I never did go back, and I’ve always wondered what her ox tails tasted like. There’s no way the taste could have matched that smell. I’ve still never smelled something that I can remember being so incredible, other than that time my wife cooked us a casserole when we were still newly dating and we were down in Dallas. It smelled incredible for the wrong reason though. It smelled like feet! Sorry dear, but you know that’s true!!
This guy was a douche:
My coworker reminded me of this mini caper from last year.
My boss often has lunch with some of the attorneys at his old office. Every Friday, he and a gentleman named Tom go to the same restaurant and probably order the same thing from the same waitress. They like consistency, I guess you could say.
Anyway, before I must have pissed him off with something I said, Tom used to call me to go to lunch whenever my boss was off on a Friday. On one such day, Tom, who is a larger gentleman to say the least, called me to go to lunch. I was agreeable, but I insisted that we go to a place I like and not the usual joint that they frequented each Friday. Their place is way overpriced!! This clearly made Tom uncomfortable, but he came and picked me up nonetheless (their office is right across the street).
I told Tom that his Ford Taurus (not the first he’s owned…creature of habit) had a pretty good flat tire, to which he shrugged his shoulders. After a few hundred yard, it was obvious that this car was struggling on the bum tire, so Tom pulled into an awful gas station positioned at the intersection of two sets of housing projects, a chop suey joint (is this a St. Louis thing, chop suey?) and a car wash where I’m sure you could get a dime bag before you could find someone to clean your rims.
He pulled up to the air pump and said, seemingly to nobody in particular, “There some fix a flat in the trunk.”
I assumed he was just talking out loud to himself, so we both sat there like a couple of honkey assholes in a clearly non-honkeys-are-welcome-here parking lot until it occurred to me that this fuck was expecting me to get out of the car and get the can myself! WTF?
It was pretty warm outside and I think Tom is quick to perspire, so I did get his stupid can out of the trunk and got back in the car to offer it to him so he’d have another chance to go put air in his own tire.
No such thing was going to happen. He handed me a quarter for the air machine instead. I guess I should be thankful that he did that much.
Without ever saying thank you, we enjoyed our lunch as I secretly seethed inside and hoped he’d choke on a chicken bone or something. I didn’t want him to die or anything. I like Tom, but a good choking scare would have been pretty sweet.
Alas, he didn’t choke, and because the owner of the joint where we ate likes me (I work security there) our lunch was comped 100%. I told Tom it was customary that we leave the waitress $5 each when we get our lunch comped, so he left $5 and walked away.
“Can’t cover my $5 too for fixing your fucking flat tire you big fuck of a fucking fuck!!??? FUCK!” Is what I thought in my head.
Not only did he not cover my lunch, he never did say thank you. What a rude douche. It occurs to me that I may have unearthed a reason Tom is in his mid 40s and lives alone.
I had a whole story here that really pissed me off about a rich asshole treating a “poorer” person disrespectfully, but my wife pulled the plug on it. She’s the only one who gets to pull the plug on my shit when she reviews something, and she nixed it for now so I got nothing more.
Well hold on, I got more.
I never really understood Twitter, but I have an account. I happened to be on it while watching the hockey game and drinking tonight. I can see how a person can get into hot water real fast!
I followed Wil Wheaton because his name showed up shortly after I followed that silly George Takei and I’d seen him on Big Bang Theory. I never watched a single episode of Star Trek, so I don’t know him from that show.
Anyway, it turns out he’s a Kings fan and was tweeting shit about the game every 4 minutes! I wanted to tweet him threatening messages all night long! Then when the Blues started to get hosed by the refs, I promptly followed the NHL and then Brendan Shanahan.who I think is in charge of the refs! Shanahan may have nothing to do with the refs, I don’t know, but I was going to Tweet my displeasure with every mother lover involved with the NHL!!!
Thankfully, I lost interest in that, but I can see how it’d get outta control fast!
Well fuck, I’m up to 1500 plus words and it’s 12:45am my time.
Good night, all!
I promise that I’ll try harder next time.