To blow or not to blow, that is the question.

What a weekend I had. I am currently exhausted from my weekend of expeditions and half asleep. This entry is a medical miracle. Friday a few of my “sisters” and I went down South for the weekend, like geese. We stayed in Saxon because June has a house there. Saturday we went to Holm for a memorial for Susan. We are all given a chance to talk to Susan’s mom, Mrs. Barri. It was exactly what I needed.

Saturday night when we got back to Saxon we all decided to go out on the town like we were Destiny’s Child. I’m Beyonce. We went to some sketchy bar with approximately 400 beers and guidos on tap. When entering the bar, the bouncer had a scanner and my license wouldn’t scan. The no-necked bouncer beefcake asked me where my “real” ID was. I assumed this was a trick question since I am actually 21, in the legal sense. I offered to show him 50 credit cards but then retracted my statement to 5. He wouldn’t take it. Before I knew what was happening my ID was gone. Another no-necked character skulked away with my one and only ID. I asked him where he was going and he replied with a quick, “I’m a cop.” I jumped back.

This “cop” or so he claimed to be was definitely not sober. He kept asking beefcake if he could bring his funnel into the bar. Classy. Before he called my ID number in, he asked if I had any warrants out for my arrest. I said no a little too quickly to suit myself. I racked my brain for any prostitution or concealed weapons charges. Nothing. After about 15 minutes of these shenanigans I started to lose my patience. My buzz was wearing off and I needed a drink… and fast. Half under my breath and half in audible speak I said, “Am I going to need to call my dad? He is a lawyer.” I received no cognitive response.

Finally, the call was received that my ID was, in fact, a real ID. Who knew? The “cop” said to beefcake, “Your scanner’s broke.” My need for a drink was so considerable that I ignored this misuse of the English language completely.

After several drinks on my part throughout several hours we decided to go home. Being the good comrade she is, June offered to sober drive. On the way home we were unknowingly driving into a death trap. A road block. I panicked slightly but then realized I wasn’t driving. This is how the story goes:
Cop: Let me see your license. Whose wine is that in the back?
June: Do what?
Cop: Who does the wine belong to?
Anna: Me.
Cop: Who has been drinking it?
Anna: Me.
Cop: Have you been drinking tonight?
June: I had a beer 3 hours ago. (WHAT?!?!?!?!!?!?!?!!?!)
Cop: Oh ok, well let’s just see what the Breathalyzer says.
(June takes hold of the Breathalyzer after admitting to drink and without objection to this test.)
Cop: Don’t hold it. You might run away with it. (This is so sexual I can barely contain myself.)
(June blows and the cop laughs. Apparently she isn’t as good as the previous blower.)

This really happened. Error #1: I didn’t cover the half empty double bottle of wine with a cork in it. Error #2: June admits to drinking to a cop during a roadblock. Really? Error #3: June takes a Breathalyzer without question or hesitation. Error #4: Borderline fellatio request made by police officer. The laughter after the blowski just took the cake. I don’t know what this means but either this cop had an extremely strange sense of humor or June’s blow exalted something worthy of laughter. Maybe he liked her enthusiasm.

These interactions with the policemen of our nation have disturbed me. These men are not what I would call “heroes.” I would instead call them “zeros.” One might even refer to these men in uniform as clowns. I’m not impressed. Maybe the firemen will give me a run for my money.

Until next time…