0.00
(0 votes)
You must login to vote
|
|
|
Do you have any idea how really smashed up big time you can get on Five and a Half Finger Wine? Ohh…yippie kiiaayyyy. You know you are messed up when a huge hunkin pooolece ossiver screams in your ear to “Get up and put your clothes on, NOW!”
As I struggled to get up I noticed a bunch of one dollar bills on the ground. I wiggled into my sundress and tried to stop blinking in the hot afternoon sun. “You have any idea why we’re here mam, asked this almost seven foot tall basket ball player in a crispy blue uniform. Sometimes it is to your advantage to play dumb and this seemed as good an opportunity as any.
“Well no officer, I was just sitting on this tree stump admiring the positioning of the artwork in the ravine.” He looked at me funny. “Artwork? Artwork? What the hell artwork are you talking about,” he cranked out like a ghetto blaster. You know big men can talk awful loud without it being clear to them blonds have sensitive hearing. “Why, the rusted cars down there, isn’t that a collection representing America’s disposable way of life,” I asked.
He looked at me funny again. He grabbed the hair on my head and parted it. “Yup,” he said and let go. “I have you figured out now. Lady, we are over here on a complaint of prostitution.” Well I knew he didn’t have a clue about me, I’ve never once charged for anything I’ve done in a public park. “I’ll have you know officer, I was just sitting here drinking my wine and fell asleep while I was waiting for the garage to go into LA and pick up some hole glue they needed for my tire.”
He looked at me funny again. He just kind of stared into my eyes and squinted. I squinted back acknowledging his squint. Then it hit, the mother of all headaches. It was just as if my brains were pouring out though the pores of my hair folicles. “Ohhh…ohhhh….aahhhh,” and he yelled at me. “Stop the singing, stop it, just stop it now,” he blasted. “I just might add disturbing the peace to the prostitution charge if you don’t settle down right now.”
“Why you can’t charge me with prostitution, I haven’t done anything but sit here and admire the artwork,” I protested. “Artwork? Artwork?” He had a way of repeating himself that I don’t think represented the proper training a police officer would get at the academy. “Lady those are stripped cars put there by thieves after they took all the parts off them. That ain’t no art work.” I felt so sad, so disappointed. it looked like art, it really did. It looked just like someone put them there deliberately to rust and create a monument to the car industry.
“Well,” I said, “you can’t charge me with prostitution. I haven’t done a thing, so there, and you can’t prove any thing, so there, and I have a big, big headache right now, so there, and that’s that, so there. He squinted at me again. I squinted back to acknowledge his squint. “Lady, look at the ground, do you see all those dollar bills laying there?” I had to squint to focus on the ground, but of course I could see the dollar bills there. I may wear thick glasses but I’m not blind.
“The word we have is that everyone left a dollar tip.” I didn’t know if I should be insulted or happy. With the economy being so tight, the thought of the money sounded nice, but then a dollar tip, a dollar mind you, what kind of woman did they think I was? And , who were they anyway. I don’t remember anyone handing me a dollar.
“We were going to arrest your pimp Leroy but he left before we got here.” My brain went into scrambled mode. I never had a pimp before. I wondered if I would be in trouble with the IRS. Would I have to pay taxes on his income if he didn’t pay? Would I have to file jointly this year and how would I ever find him again to get his signature on the return? It was all so confusing, I didn’t know what to do.
“Wait a minute officer, you can’t fool me with a story like that, Leroy has the garage and liquor store over there, he’s not a pimp, he is busy working on cars and selling liquor.” The officer squinted at me again, this time for a long time. I squinted back just a little and wrinkled my nose. He didn’t wrinkle his nose, I guess they didn’t teach him that in interrogation training. “Lady, there are lots and lots and lots of men around here named Leroy, not just the tire and beer guy.” “Wine,” I said, “he mostly sells wine.” He just stared without squinting at all.
My cell phone rang, it was Leroy. Leroy the wine and tire guy not Leroy my pimp. Oh how weird that sounds, “Leroy my pimp.” Its all so confusing. “We had to put a new tire on your car, the hole glue isn’t keeping the tread patch attached to the inner radial core threads and while we fixed it the best we could, it is still flat on the bottom of the tire.” Well even with a headache, I could understand that, I just wish it hadn’t taken so long.
I need to explain things to the officer, he is really confused right now, and I need to get my car back so I will go now and continue this later, Blondie the blond.
|
