Speaking as a former police officer, I love my boys in blue. But, as with any profession, you're going to run into a nimrod every now and then.
I had managed to catch whatever brand of crud that was floating around at the time and felt like crap on a crap sandwich. I don't know what that means but I felt like it anyway. I had the sniffles, a low grade fever and the biggest case of the yucks I'd had in years. I was driving along with my left elbow on the arm rest and my head resting in my hand. It would have been embarrassing to pass away on the street so I was hoping to get home before the grim reaper tap-danced in and did his business. As bad as I felt, I would have kissed him on his little skeleton lips if he could have guaranteed a quick exit. I wasn't hungry but figured if I could make it home for a steaming bowl of Spotted Owl soup and a Panda Pot Pie, I'd feel better. What can I say? I love to keep PETA on their toes.
I was hoping against hope that my heart would continue beating for another half-hour or so when I saw flashing lights in the rear view mirror. Of course, I obligingly pulled over.
The officer walked to the window and asked, "Do you know why I pulled you over?"
"You owe me money?"
"No, you were talking on a cell phone while driving through a school zone."
"No sir, I wasn't," I said and began explaining the situation.
"Yes you were," he answered. "I saw you."
My partner felt the urge to chime in and said, "No sir. His phone is sitting on the console."
"I wasn't talking to you! Shut up!"
Anyway, after some lively conversation, he decided not to write me a ticket and thanked me for my courtesy. I responded in kind and shook his hand before he walked back to his cruiser.
By this time, partner was beside himself and asked, "Why were you so courteous to that jerk? And you shook his hand!"
"I've been coughing into that hand all day," I said. "He'll be hacking up fur-balls within the hour."
My psychiatrist, Dr. Demonic, couldn't understand why I missed my appointment because of illness. After all, the flu would do most anything to keep from catching me. He says that therapy for me is like painting a smiley face on the Hindenburg. It's still going down in flames. He must like me though. He gave me my own Native-American name,. It was nice until I found out that it meant, "Sleepy Dog Who Licks His Butt In The Moonlight".
So, I shaved his pit bull and dyed it pink.
I'm feeling much better now.