Do you know how to tell the difference between a fairy tale and a cop story?
The fairy tale begins: “Once upon a time …”
The cop story starts with: “This ain’t no [deleted], there I was …”
When you get more than one cop together in someplace that’s warm and has bottomless cups of coffee, inevitably the story-telling will start.
Over the years I’ve heard more than my fair share, so here are some of them.
All of these tales were heard by me at second-, third-, or fourth paw. I make no guarantees as to the veracity, originality or legality of any of them.
From a city officer east of here:
The mayor had been riding the Chief’s butt about speeders, ‘n bitchin’ that somethin’s gotta be done; Chief is waving the blotter under his nose and tellin’ him that we can either answer calls or run radar — his choice. He wants us to do both, we gotta have another officer on patrol.
Hell, no, that would cost money and Lawd knows Hizzoner is allergic to checkbooks.
This goes back-and-forth for a couple of weeks, and then the Mayor sees some kind of damn fool news special on the TeeVee. Some dee-partment off East got the idea to park a patrol car beside the highway, dress up a dummy in a uniform and put him behind the wheel.
Hizzoner comes peltin’ down to the office all hot and bothered by this idea. Chief tells him it’s a damn fool idea. Mayor gets his panties in a wad, and next thing you know I’m parking the spare prowl car on the shoulder with a dress shop mannequin behind the wheel wearing one of our old uniforms.
First couple of hours that I checked on the decoy everything’s OK. ‘Bout hour three, some joker’s gone and put half of a doughnut in his hand. I tell the Chief, Chief goes and tells the Mayor, Mayor don’t want to hear it.
This goes on for a couple of days, everytime we go by the decoy, he’s got somethin’ else — cigarette, party hat, givin’ on-coming traffic the finger, biggest damn bong I ever saw — you name it.
Chief goes and tells Hizzoner that it ain’t doin’ any good, and he’s pulling the plug. Hizzoner tells him that he’s not, and that Hizzoner is havin’ a press conference the next day so he can tell the voters how much money he’s savin’ ’em.
Chief stomps off and tells us to make sure that damn decoy car is OK for the press conference.
Next day, ’bout half-an-hour before the press conference is about to start, I check on the decoy and some joker has found a giant stuffed fuzzy kid’s teddy bear. Only, this teddy bear is a sheep. And the joker has jammed this stuffed sheep down between the mannequin and the steerin’ wheel — butt first.
I extracted the sheep, tossed it into the back of my car and went to tell the Chief that everything was OK.
Hizzoner is talkin’ to the Media and decides –‘spur of the moment’ bull[deleted] — to do the last part of the interview out beside the decoy car.
Media and Hizzoner tool up and get out there, Hizzoner is standin’ beside the driver’s door on the prowl car, got his “shakin’ babies and kissin’ hands” voice goin’, chest all puffed out like a banty rooster, biggest possum-eatin’ grin you ever saw plastered on his face and the only thing the newscritters can focus on is the blow-up, inflatable sex doll that the wind is blowin’ all over the inside of the car and all over the mannequin.
Now, that ain’t the worst part of it. Mayor finally figures out that the decoy is pullin’ some against-regs on-duty trim and has hisself a melt-down right there.
Tells the Media to come back to his office, he’s gonna give a statement about vandalism and disrespect. He calls the Chief on the way back; Chief calls me and tells me to get all the stuff we found on the mannequin and take it to Hizzoner’s office.
Now, nobody saw fit to tell me that every stinkin’ newstation in 24 counties is set-up in the Mayors office.
So, I go get the joints, the doughnuts, the bong, the ciggies, the rasta hat, that damned stuffed sheep and everythin’ else we’ve found on or about that mannequin; I stagger in the back door of City Hall carryin’ all this and yell at the secretary: “Hey, where does the Mayor want this sheep?”
She passed out.
I spent the next three months on deep mids, avoiding Hizzoner like the plague.
By way of a DPS trooper:
I was stationed out on a highway 200 miles on the backside of nowhere back when the speed limit was still 55.
One evening, just before end of shift, I clocked a Peterbilt at about 70 MPH, crossed the median, caught up to him and turned on the overheads.
Truck pulls over, I walk up to the drivers side door and knock on it.
Nothing happens. I knock again — nothing.
So, I get ahold of the door latch, kind of snuggle up against the side of the truck and pop the door open.
No gun shots, bricks, baseball bats, dogs or Mace come flying out, so I kind of peer around the door …
… and there’s a chimp in the drivers seat.
I swear to God. A chimpanzee. In a diaper and a gimme hat.
Now, I’ve been to two World Fairs, a calf-roping and a wax museum, but I’ve never seen anything like that.
So, I’m standing there, that furry little sumbitch is grinning at me, and I’m trying to figure out if I should spit or whistle Dixie, when this hand comes out of the sleeper, whacks the monkey across the back of the head and a voice says, “Gawdammit, I told you you was going too fast!”
Sometimes you just have to give it to them on points.
I shut the door, went back to my cruiser, reported in Off-Shift and went home.
See? I’m not the only one that the wierd stuff happens to. It happens to other cops, too!
Now, if only I could get the Sheriff to believe that …