RED/BLUE WASP-BUBBLES AND MICROPHONES

What's up with this once-a-week blogging bullspit? I need to get on here more often. I guess I have just shied away from the computer, of late, because I still haven't gotten it to go much faster and I've been working some overtime and, seriously, three people on one computer make for some long wait-times. ;-)

In contrast to last Saturday's blog, the weather, here, in the southeast region of the Mitten-state, is just etheral. Brilliant blue skies, a high temperature of 46 degrees Farenheit, no humidity. It is the kind of day that makes one feverish for Spring. No problem, there, seeing as how the vernal equinox is next Friday at 7:44. C'mon, Spring! Winter has been here long enough. I'm preppin' to kick the bitch to the curb (kerb) as soon as is humanly possible. Mother Nature really reamed us, in Michigan, this year. I know, I know, a whole hell of a lot of regions in the country and the world have had it much much worse, but I'm just speaking from recent experience. We've had pussy winters much of the time during the last decade or two; this one was one of the "worst" in my recent memory. Lotsa snow and lotsa cold. Even I've had enough, and I'm usually quite a winter person. But, anyway, blue skies and moderate temps. Cool! (No pun intended.) Keep the nice days coming!

My windshield has been cracked like a mofo for the last month. It was my fault. My temper got the best of me and I kicked the windshield, from the inside, from the passenger seat. I guess I didn't realize how strong my foot and leg and boot were, because--bam!--instant spiderweb, right in the center of the glass. And, of course, over time, with the cold weather and percipitation, the spider unfurled his web-house, rendering my windshield either a work of art (you should see how the lights refract through the cracks at night--quite beautiful), an eyesore (white trash car, anyone?), or a distraction to driving. The Royal Oak po-po decided it was the latter....

I was driving home from work on Thursday, blasting Led Zeppelin, and enjoying the agreeable weather, and I saw a police car pull into the drive of the liquor store on the southeast corner of Lincoln and Woodward in Royal Oak, Michigan. I said something, as I prepared to turn at the turnaround and drive past him to go east on Lincoln, something like, "Well, helllllo, Mister Police Ossifer! Gettin' ready to pull someone over, huh? What a good boy!" And, yes, I said it as though I were talking to either a dog or a young boy, a kind of what-a-good-boy-you-are tone of voice. As I drove past him, I could see him staring directly at me; his mouth was almost curled into an O of horror. Hmm, I thought, he really zeroed in on me, didn't he? As I turned right onto Lincoln, double-checking that, yes, I had my seatbelt on, I glanced into my rearview mirror and, to my utter lack of surprise, I saw him right on my ass, glancing over at his onboard computer, most assuredly running my plate. "Bring it, motherfucker," I said. "I haven't had a drink; what the fuck you gonna do?"

[Yes, my hubris is often misplaced when it comes to dealing with the po-po.]

Well, what the fuck he was "gonna do" was turn on his red-and-blues. Zap! Zip! I was git. I pulled over immediately. Now, I have this thing, whenever I am pulled over; I always immediately go to unlock the seatbelt, the better to turn and face my "oppressor." This time, I caught myself. I pulled my wallet from my back pocket and muttered, "The windshield."

[A quick sidenote: That morning, I had gone to work, accidentally forgetting to bring my wallet. Before I went to my first job that morning, I had made sure that I'd gone home to retrieve said wallet. That turned out to be a good decision, obviously.]

Ossifer B. Handrinos glided to the side of my car, his hand hovering over his holstered police-issue, per regulations, and peered down in the window at me. I put my cigarette down and, as a courtesy to the ossifer, turned down Zeppelin's "Kashmir." "License, proof of insurance and registration, please," he said. As I thumbed through my unorganized wallet for the proper documents, he asked me, "Do you know why I pulled you over?"

I glanced over at his mirrored eyes. "Yeah," I said to my reflection, "it's probably about the windshield, right?" I handed him the requested forms of ID. "Uh, yeah," Handrinos said, "that windshield is completely fucked. Now get outta the car, Mr. Attempted Assault on a Police Ossifer whilst I get you sprung like a fucking spaghetti-strainer with my gat."

No.

He didn't say that. But, I wonder, when the cops pull a plate up on the computer, does it just bring up the driving record of the person being pulled over or it does it also bring up their criminal record? Because if it brings up the criminal record, Handrinos may have seen that, yeah, I've had some run-ins with the po-po in the past, all alcohol-related. And belligerence-related. Yeah, that too.

No, what he said was, "Your windshield is a distraction, sir. I can't have you driving around like that." I was thinking, But you should see the way the lights refract through it, Ossifer! It's beautiful! I said, "Yeah, I was going to get it fixed as soon as I could, but I haven't been able to, monetarily."

He looked at me, though his mirrored shades and said, "Sit tight, Mr. B______ while I run this information. Don't get out of the car." He buzzed back to his wasp-mobile.

Hear this: Doesn't it just suck to be sitting in your car, with the wasp-mobile buzzing reds and blues behind you?! It does. Other motorists crawl by, rubber-necking at the unfortunate sap (you), thinking to themselves, There but for the Grace of God, go I.... As I wrote, I have had my time(s) in the sun with the boys in blue. Many times, I was not in my right mind. This times I was. I felt like a veteran of foreign wars. I felt like a Billy Bad-Ass. My mind was riffing, the whole time I was sitting under Handrinos's thumb.

Much of my inner dialogue was thematically-based on 1930s gangster films: "Who doya think you ah, ya lousy coppah? Ya think ya bettah than me? Heck no! No, you ain't. Ya can throw me in the slammah, I doan care. But I didn't do it, Ossifer. I'm innocent, y'see? It was Hammah-head. He did it, see?! He's the one! I was framed, I tell ya!"

And then I told myself, "Adam. You should have fixed this windshield much much sooner." "But I didn't have the money, see?" I said to myself. I glanced back in the rearview mirror. Handrinos's buddy had pulled up right beside him, for all intents and purposes blocking the eastbound lane of Lincoln Avenue. Now, listen: If you've never been popped for a DUI, consider yourself lucky...and/or smart. I have been popped. The way it works on a DUI is that two, sometimes three, units wasp-buzz blues and reds behind the unfortunate drunk. It's all about safety, for them, and also a way in which they can witness the sobriety tests and cover their asses in court. I was not drunk, obviously, but, still, seeing that second cop car pull up behind me...well, it made my scrotum tighten. It brought back bad memories.

The two young men with Power and guns gabbed and joked behind me as I relived my previous arrests. DUI, Attempted Assault on a Police Officer (the cops had stuck their noses into my buddy's and my fight), Criminal Trespassing (the Blarney Stone, a bar from which I was unjustly ousted), Drunk and Disorderly (in Minnesota, with a crazy fuck whom I didn't even know). If it seems like I'm excusing myself from most of these infractions, so be it. It may be rationalization, it may be excuse-making, whatever. All I'm trying to do is to impart to you, Dear Reader, is what was going through my mind during this oh-so traumatic time. Basically, what I'm saying is, been there, done that. This cracked windshield? Big whoop, man.

But then, it hit me: This wouldn't affect my CDL at work, will it? I need that CDL. It be my caish cow. Though I knew that it was highly unlikely, still, the thought stuck in my mind's craw.

Behind me, the two young men with guns and Power, completed their bullshit session and the late-comer drove off.

I sat. I waited. I waited. I sat. I turned Zeppelin back up. I considered lighting another smoke and then thought, no. I didn't want to blow the smoke in the officer's face whenever (if ever) he got off his ass and walked back to my window.

So. I sat and waited and grooved to Zeppelin's "Good Times, Bad Times."

Finally, B. Handrinos got out of his wasp-mobile and buzzed back to my window. I turned down the volume on the radio. "I gave you a ticket that can be waived if you repair your windshield within two weeks. Here's your information." He handed me my license, my registration and my proof of insurance. "What you need to do, sir, is get your windshield fixed and then, within fourteen days, go to the police department and show them this ticket and show them the repairs and the fees will be waived at that time."

I took his slimey ticket. "Yeah, like I said," I said, "I was going to get it fixed on Monday, but it was raining. But you're right, Officer, the windshield is really cracked and I can see how you could think that that would be a distraction to my driving."

"Because it is," he intoned.

"Yeah," I said. "I guess it is." I wiped the phantasmic shit smear from my nose and added, "Thank you for your fix-it ticket. I'm going to go to Belle Tire right now and get an appointment to get it fixed."

"You have fourteen days from this ticke--"

"Yes," I said, "but I'd like to get it repaired as quickly as possible. You're right," I added, wiping some more brown from my nose, "it is a distraction. I need to get it fixed right away."

He smiled and said, "Have a nice day, sir, and drive carefully."

"You, too," I said. "And thanks again for the fix-it ticket." It was impossible: my entire face was covered in shit, I was so far up B. Handrinos's ass.

"Just be safe," he buzzed, and winged away.

Now, this: Don't you just hate it, after receiving a ticket (and an admonishment to drive safely) when the cop pulls out right behind you and follows you for a block or three? Don't you just wish and pray that young man with Power and a gun would just turn off already?! I do. You betcha. I ain't down with that following shit, even if they have to take the same road as you to get to where they need to go. Eventually, he turned off, and I continued down the road in relative peace.

I just got a call from Belle Tire. I'd woken at 7:30 this morning to take the car in and get some new glass. They told me that the glass was replaced, repaired, whatever--it's good to go. Cool. Suck on that, Handrinos! Just joking. He was just doing his job and, actually, yes, the break in the glass was distracting to me. So, all is well that ends well.

***

In other news, once I start playing Guitar Hero, I can't stop. The game is totally addicting and totally fun. I just went to Ebay and bid on a Guitar Hero microphone. That way, one of us here, in this house, can sing and the another can riff on the gitty. Life is good.

Peace.