True story. Almost seems like yesterday . . .
On the way home, I decided to stop at a bar and just socialize a bit. I was sitting awhile by myself when some woman comes running up, grabs a bar stool and scoots intimately up next to me, and then starts pouring out her tale of distress about some guy on the other side of the bar (not visible from where I was sitting) claiming to be a cop and harassing her, sexual intimidation, improper touching, etc. I think Jesus, is this woman for real? I ask her what’s this *cop* look like? and she says he’s young, has black hair with a black mustache. And she’s says that he’s also bothering three other young girls sitting over there near him. So I say OK, I am going to have a look, and she says NO, NO, don’t confront him, but I say I am only going to check it out cause there is nothing worse than a renegade cop. So I get up and casually wander to the front of the bar and gaze over in the direction where she says he is sitting and, sure enough, there is some stocky guy matching her description at the corner of the bar watching me. So I figure OK, that’s him, wander back to my beer, and she says did you see him? And I confirm, but just then one of the three other young girls walks by on her way to the restroom and this distressed woman who sat down next to me starts asking her Did he grope you? and the young cute one says Yeah but assures her that I've already told the bartender. So now I’m kinda really upset so I say I’m going to wander around and the woman says NO, NO, but I do not share her timidity so I get up and sure enough there is the stocky *cop* guy just standing there talking to some other girl and I walk up and say HEY DUDE HOW’s LIFE?! and he is kinda taken aback and I say YOU KNOW WHAT’s COOL—JUST GETTING TO KNOW AND RESPECT PEOPLE. And he asks BUT WHY ME? OUT OF EVERYBODY IN THE BAR, WHY ARE YOU TALKING TO ME? and I say that Well, I got to start somewhere and then I start talking to the girl he was talking to and he again asks HEY DUDE, WHY ME? And I say because I want to meet everybody in the bar and so then I start talking to the next guy down the bar, an old guy who turned out to be a 2nd World War vet shot down 5 times on missions, but I am keeping my eye on this other stocky *cop* guy who has now moved away from the bar and taken a seat with some buddy in a booth. So I spend some time talking to the old vet and then notice that the guy on down next to him also has black hair and a mustache. And I’m thinking—hell—this is probably the real *cop* guy maybe and not that other stocky *cop* guy who really looks more like a *mafia* guy. So at that point, not knowing what I might have gotten into, I start telling real loud courageous death-taunting and death-defying Col. North Contra stories to the old vet and I’m acting like Rambo hoping to be able to fight like Steven Segal if the situation gets critical. So this other more potential *cop* guy whom I haven’t spoken to yet, turns to me and asks me What are ya drinking? cause he wants to buy me a drink cause he really likes the dark, blood-curdling jungle stories I’m telling. So I take a beer and then ask him What the hell do YOU do? and he says YOU KNOW. and I say No, I don’t—what do you do? and he repeats YOU KNOW. and points to an emblem emblazoned on his jacket declaring CLEVELAND POLICE. But, on closer inspection, I notice this guy is fat and wasted and the old vet says hey, his name is Tony and he’s allright, he’s not a bad guy. And so somewhat emboldened I turn back to this tony-cop and check out his tee-shirt under his jacket which has the three little pigs on it and I start laughing and pull back his jacket and, pointing at his tee, I’m laughing, saying I wonder what the hell this means?!! and I ask the vet what he thinks the pigs symbolize and he says Oh, I don't know. So I turn back to tony-cop and say Hey, tony what year did you graduate the Police Academy because my brother was the bitch-ass instructor who probably made your life hell, so what year tony? And he replies 34. and I say What? And he repeats 34. like in 1934. And then I’m sure this guy is just so pitiful, just a sham, and now so drunk as to be almost harmless and nobody else seems to be too upset about him and the old vet says Tony’s ok—he doesn’t mean any harm. So I don’t kick his ass no way but just wander away and back to where I left the nearly hysterical distressed molested woman, but she’s gone. Gone! So I just sit down feeling like an under-challenged samurai and finish the beer I left there a half hour earlier.
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