It had been a busy night but things were beginning to slow down a little and I was glad. There had been a variety of calls. I pulled over a guy for excessive speed and he obviously saw no other way to get rid of his drugs before I got to his vehicle so, he just ate everything. I don't know what variety of drugs he had in there but by the time the ambulance arrived, he was high, he was low, he was high and he was low. He laughed, he cried, he screamed and I think he wet his pants at least once.
"Help me! Leave me alone! I'm dying! I'll kill you! Hey, you have nice eyes. I love you."
Hellooooo, stomach pump. But, it wasn't too bad. At least he never got violent but did manage to kiss me on the lips once. The guys thought gargling with kerosene was a bit much but I wasn't taking any chances.
I also responded to a drunken woman who kept shouting, "Shoot me! Shoot me!" and tried to stab me with a barbeque fork. It ended peacefully without anyone getting hurt but I learned a couple of valuable life lessons:
1. Don't scream, "Shoot me!" unless you mean it.
2. Never bring a barbeque fork to a gun fight.
Toward the end of the shift, I noticed a small sports car zipping through traffic. He was doing at least 20 miles over the speed limit and seemed to be having some problem deciding which lane to drive in. I got him pulled over without incident but decided to call for backup on this one. Just in case.
As I was approaching, the driver opened the door and I saw an appendage the length of a post office flag pole stretch to the ground. It isn't enough to say this man was tall because he proceeded to stand up for 15 minutes! To make matters worse, he was drunk and mad so I kept my heavy duty flashlight ready in case I needed it. But, I guess he needed it more than me because he suddenly snatched it out of my hand and tossed it across the street. I immediately pulled my baton but I guess he needed it too because it ended up across the street with my flashlight.
My only other option at that point was my handgun. Of course, there are situations where a handgun is necessary but I really didn't want to have to shoot this guy for being a drunken ass. But I also didn't want my head beaten into curds and whey. I was hoping to keep him talking until backup arrived but that's when he mumbled something threatening and took a step forward.
I guess those ballet classes my mother made me take in elementary school were of some use because I instinctively performed a high kick which planted itself snugly into his special puppy-making place. It was a perfect fit. Like slipping a manicured hand into a Porsche driving glove.
As he crumpled to his knees, he said, "You cheated!"
"Damn right I cheated. You're a big boy."
Because of the barbeque fork and boot-in-crotch incidents, I had to make a mandatory visit to the department psychologist. He looked at the reports and said, "Still crazy, I see".
"Well," he said. "There was no excessive force involved as I can see. You just did what you had to do. But, I ought to throw the book at you. While my wife was sleeping with Prince Prozac, I gave her a Mohawk with those clippers you loaned me. I figured she'd file for that divorce but...she likes it! She even dyed it orange and I've got to go in public with this woman! She looks like a psychedelic, wide-bodied Q-Tip. So,keep your ideas to yourself."
"Have you thought about finishing the job?" I asked. "Bald has to be better than orange. Just keep her away from tattoo parlors. Don't want to give her any ideas."
"Hmmm. Bald. Not bad. She'll be sleeping with the prince again tonight so I'll sneak in and see how it works. But, come to think of it, do you know any tattoo artists who make house calls?"
It was just another day in zooville. But, as my mother used to say, "He can't be mine. He cannot be mine!"
I don't get it.