The nicest thing someone ever did for me was…
Haha, I’m going to totally admit that my mind went straight back to when I was 14 and that nice 15 1/2 year old girl had the sex with me. I know, right? That’s sick. I only remember she was 15 1/2 because she had a 1965 Mustang in the garage, but she couldn’t drive it because she wasn’t 16 yet.
That whole story about my first tryst is actually pretty funny and maybe a little sad and sick and somewhat sordid, but I’ll save it for another day.
There is so much non-niceness in the world today that it should be pretty easy to pick out the nicest of the nice, right? I mean it’s so bad nowadays that when a person actually gives me a courtesy wave when I let them over in traffic or says, “thank you” when I hold a door open for them, I just want to fucking hug them and say, “no, THANK YOU!!!! THANK YOU FOR NOT BEING A TOTAL DICKWAD LIKE 98% OF THE REST OF HUMANITY!”
K, maybe it’s not THAT bad, but it’s sort of sad.
I like nice people and I like nice deeds. Last week my partner and I were having lunch at a bar and grill, in uniform, and some guys paid our bill, anonymously. That happens every now and then and it always touches me every single time.
I’m not living with somebody else’s kidney and nobody has paid off my school loans or anything great like that, so I’m having a hard time coming up with the nicest thing someone ever did for me. I bet I’ll read some of the other posts tomorrow and be reminded of something really great that somebody did for me, but right now, I’m drawing a blank.
There are thousands of things that people have done for me and my family, from our great neighbors picking up our son from school as a favor to us a few times, or cutting my grass or buying me beer. Yes, my neighbors kick ass.
I have a great extended family too. Some aunts and uncles of mine have let me live with them when I was younger or let me borrow a car or cash or taught me how to tie my shoes and drive a stick shift.
All nice things and all things I appreciate a lot.
I’m going to cop out on talking about any of those or other nice things to talk about work again, because that’s what’s on my mind the most, outside of my family these days, so here goes.
The nicest thing somebody has ever done for me was…put me back in a patrol car.
For those new to my story, I’m a cop who went to law school while working as a cop. I’ve worked in the Legal Division as an attorney for most of the last six or seven years, only wearing my uniform a few times a month to work secondary on my own.
When it first happened last month, I was angry and somewhat hurt. I felt unappreciated for what I’d given and given up to work a desk job that required much more of my time than those who make snarky comments about a “cush” job will ever know. I’ve had cush jobs at the department, don’t get me wrong, but working as a lawyer isn’t cush by any stretch.
Anyway, I’m back on the beat and
and I’m sort of loving it.
I haven’t had to use my brain in a month. I go to work, do my eight hours and go home without having to think about it at all, for the most part.
I’m not in a stuffy, hot as fuck break room “office” anymore either. I’m outside all day. I can drive around, walk around in a park or near the Mississippi River, if I want. Sure, some of the areas are rough and the abject poverty can be depressing, but the area has much more to offer than just those things. Plus, every day or even every call is something new and possibly unexpected.
This week alone, I’ve managed to make one man I thought I was going to have to shoot with a Taser when we first encountered each other try to hug me before we parted ways, convinced an older gentleman that his plants were probably dying because an asteroid had hit the earth somewhere in Africa and moved the planet off its axis a little bit, so they probably weren’t getting the right amount of light anymore, and just yesterday, I made a hooker cry.
Before I worked in the office, I’d patrolled an area of the city where prostitutes were errrrrrrrywhere, so I know one when I see one.
I noticed this woman from across the street, bent over at the waist as she jiggled her chest at what I can only assume was a passing car. She looked to her right, saw my car, and immediately started walking in the opposite direction than she was before.
Prostitutes are wonderful people to get to know as a cop, because if you want information, they got information. Since I was new to the area, I pulled up to her and asked her if I could talk to her for a second.
She was young and rough looking, but not beyond hope to be beautiful again. She was angry that I stopped her and she let me know it.
“What the fuck, man! I ain’t doing nothing wrong,” were the first words out of her mouth.
“I didn’t say you were. You don’t have to stop and talk to me just because I asked. You can tell me to get bent, if you want,” was my truthful response.
It was true that she didn’t have to talk to me, and if she’d have given me the finger and walk away, that would have been the end of it, but she looked quizzically at her cigarette and then at me and then at her feet.
“I don’t got any warrants. That fat cop who always harasses me locked me up last week. I just got out yesterday. He’s a fucker.”
I laughed and asked who she was talking about and when she said his name, I knew who she meant.
“Ah, he’s okay, really. He’s just doing his job.”
“He’s a fucker anyway.”
We talked for a couple of minutes. She is 24 and homeless and not interested in help getting off the streets yet. Not yet, but she is going to be one of my projects I think. I’ll nag her or whatever it takes until she finally tries to get her ass off the streets and into something more stable. It may work out, or she may get stabbed in the chest and bleed to death in an alley because some dude mistakenly thought she was laughing at his penis.
That happened a long time ago to another hooker. That’s also sort of a funny, sad, sordid story. I told this young lady that I’d hate to see that happen to her, so if I could help find her some resources, I wanted her to call me. I told her that she could do better for herself. She’s still young enough for god’s sake. I told her that outside of the cursing, she sounded really bright and that she had a great smile. She’d do well in customer service that didn’t involve such high risk blow jobs. She looked at me sort of stunned for a second and laughed. I watched a tear race down her face. It was one of those fast ones that comes from nowhere. I think it surprised her, but it told me that she can be moved, if the right person can point her somewhere interesting enough to move towards.
She more than likely won’t ever call, but that’s okay. I tried to do something, which is better than doing nothing. I will stop her every single time I see her on the street and ask her to talk to me for a minute. Maybe she’ll tell me to get bent, or maybe one day she’ll be tired enough of having to talk to me that she’ll let me do something to help her.
I like doing something, and now that I’m back on the beat, there’s no shortage of something for me to do.
This has been a Finish the Sentence Friday post. The sentence is “One of the best things somebody ever did for me was… ” by Sarah at Left Brain Buddha. Please go show her some extra love.