In my ‘day job’ I have to deal with the city police on a semi-regular basis. One particular night when I had to call the police the call was responded to by two officers. One was a regular we deal with; I like to call him Officer Rambo. He’s always got this wild-eyed look to him and can’t stand still.
One time I called to report a guy smoking a crack pipe in the street in front of my workplace and the guy drove away before they got there. Officer Rambo remarked, “Dude! You gotta call sooner, do you have any idea how fun it is to bash out a window with a baton and drag a cracked-out hippy out of a car window?”
But the other officer was an athletic brunette. She was cute, charming, and very helpful with the case. We’ll call her Officer Krista, because that was her name. Probably…I’m kind of bad with names and this happened over a year ago.
So anyway, Rambo and Krista show up and take statements from my partner and I. At the end of the whole issue I offered them a cup of coffee or such. They politely declined. Rambo reminded me that there is justice to be done or some crazy shit, I’m sure.
That was when Krista tore a sheet out of her pocket notebook, wrote her name and cell number on it and said, “Here’s my number. It’s my cell, so if you need anything, even if I’m not on-duty, go ahead and give me a call.”
Now, that’s what I call polite! I was telling my new partner about the story and about how helpful of a police officer she was. He shrugged, “Yeah, all the city officers have business cards with their name, badge number, and office numbers on them.”
That’s right, they do! But she wrote her personal cell number down, with her name, and no badge number…and, uhh…no office number…
OH MY GOD!!
She was hitting on me! Wasn’t she? Wasn’t she, Rambo?!
It was a moot point, I was already married, but still. A cute girl with a nice job was hitting on me! Do you know what that means? It means the city cops must be drinking on the job, is what it means.