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March 29, 2007
The Trip Out West Part VIII: Bad Cop Chills
If you are just coming in to the story, you should really start at The Beginning.
Yesterday found me arrested and in the back of a police car on my way to the Sedalia Police Station. The Bad Cop portion of the team that had Good Cop/Bad Copped me was driving.
I don't remember if I was handcuffed or not. I'm certain that if rules dictate that passengers in police cars need to be handcuffed, that I was. I'm also pretty sure, that if handcuffing was an option to be exercised at the arresting officer's discretion, I was probably not cuffed.
My initial impression of Bad Cop was that he didn't care too much for me. I got this impression when he yelled, "Jesus Christ, he's lying to us," when I was being interviewed at the Ramada Inn. Of course, I had been lying and maybe he just didn't care for that. In the time that had passed after that rough start I'd been nothing but truthful and helpful. (If it's any indication of just how healing the truth can be, I'd like to point out that, to this day, I'm still on Bad Cop's Christmas Card List.) (Not really.)
As I sat in the back of the cruiser it seemed that Bad Cop had mellowed some. We chatted a little bit and he eventually asked, "Are you on any drugs?"
"No," I replied.
"Acid … speed?" He suggested a couple just in case I'd forgotten.
"No."
"Well," he said, "You don't appear to be too awfully drunk, but your eyes are a mess."
What I should have done was point out that I'd been awake most of the time since 10 a.m the previous day (and I may have gotten up earlier than that) and that a fair portion of that time had been spent in a Firebird that was throwing off parts it didn't think it needed. If we do the math, and I never have so you get to experience the thrill of this firsthand, we find that 10 a.m. Saturday morning to 10 a.m. Sunday is 24 hours … add 12 to get us to 10 p.m. Sunday night for a total of 36 hours … two more takes us to midnight, when the fair closed, and brings us to a total of 38 hours. I'd slept a little bit in the car just after it kicked the tire off and before Tom got back with the tow truck … and I slept some of the four hours between St. Elmo, Illinois and Marshall, Missouri.
So, I'd had five or six hours sleep during that 40-hour time period. And that's only if I passed out as soon as my head hit the bucket seat when we left St. Elmo. Now, I know what you're thinking, "Six hours of sleep sitting up in a Firebird is like 16 hours in a Sleep Number bed. Quit your bitching."
Anyway.
At one point I asked Old Bad Cop New Mellow Cop what I was being charged with. He said, "Aggravated menacing, attempting to gain entry and burglary."
"Burglary?!" I exclaimed, "I wasn't in anybody's house."
"That's the funny thing about burglary, you really don't have to be in anybody's house."
And then we started talking about chicks.
No we didn't. I'm sure we continued chatting — after all, I never know when to shut the hell up — but I don't remember any other parts of the conversation.
We eventually arrived at the Sedalia Police Department.
And, while I may never always know when to shut the hell up, I often have a strong feeling about when to end a blog entry. I have the feeling now.
Posted by delmer at March 29, 2007 8:35 PM
Comments
Well stop feeling that! Otherwise, we'll be on part CVXIII before we get to find out how all this ends! :-)
Posted by: Dave2 at March 30, 2007 2:08 AM
But Dave, not everybody has your attention span.
Posted by: delmer at March 30, 2007 9:37 PM
Who the hell is Jeff?
Posted by: Mikeo at March 30, 2007 10:13 PM
Yikes ... I mean Tom.
Posted by: delmer at March 31, 2007 8:32 AM