BLITHERING, BUMBLING, AND RAMBLING #9

A BIG SPLASH

WHEATLAND- 1979.  I  was at work with two other cops, Dave and  Mike. We are arresting a guy on parole, who has been involved in a gun theft.   Talk about starting out with some excitement!

They told me, that this particular guy was on parole for, get this, having shot a guy six or seven times, then dumping the guy into the river. And off we go……

The parolee, is handcuffed, then brought outside for transport to the jail. As we are stepping down the stairs from the PD, the guy pulls away  from Dave, who was leading him towards the patrol car, and runs, handcuffed behind his back.  

It is nighttime, it is dark, and he bolts out through the paved parking lot and into a dry field area behind the PD.  There is a small ditch about 30 feet in, which he sees and leaps across, where there is a barb wire fence.  Which he doesn’t see.  The first officer behind him is me.  The barbed wire stretches on impact and he  is thrust backward, yes, into me, as I am coming down into the ditch.

My momentum carries him forward again, and down into the ditch.  And there is a large splash.  The ditch has about 8 inches of water in it.  This water is algae-ridden gunk that stinks and sticks. And our favorite parolee went in face first. I slid off him and pulled his face out as Dave, running up behind , put on the brakes and tried to stop at the edge of the ditch.  

Dave’s foot slid over, and as he struggled to regain his footing on the edge , he fell off balance into me, forcing me back onto the parolee, and the parolee back, face first again, into the water/gunk. (Splash 2!). The parolee sputters and gags and mutters “I give up”.  BUT….

As Dave and I are pulling the guy out, Mike reaches in to pull us out, Dave’s wet muddy hand slips out of his grip, he falls back into me and the parolee, and the domino effect repeats.   Ka-bonga-bonga-dunk.( Splash # 3-the biggest one because all three of us went back in, the parolee face-first, yes again). As we pulled him up , he said “OK, already, I give up!”

We found a garden hose and cleaned him off.  As we took him to the patrol car for his ride to lockup, our shoes and clothes made that squish splat noise of sogginess. At that point in time the parolee just didn’t seem to have that dangerous aura about him anymore.

For several month’s after,the ditch was known as the “dunk tank”.  And the barbed wire fence was described as the slingshot that got you there.

THE CURE

Back in the late 90’s I came across a home remedy.  I was heavily congested, my nose was running, I was fatigued and had a fair amount of body aches that made me feel like death warmed over.   I had stubbornly gone to work that day, but realized after I got there that I was only making matters worse by exposing my shift to it.

I was telling the shift that I wasn’t gonna make it through, and they should steer clear of me until my replacement arrived.   Ted, sitting across from me,told me he knew a way to make me feel better.  Sure, I said.

No, really, he said, this works.  Ok, I’m listening.  Go over to JD’s coffee shop, he says, and get a triple mocha, with an extra shot of espresso.    Wait, Whhhhhaaaat??????  I’m tellin ya, it works, he says.  He describes how the combo of chocolate and extra shots of espresso will not only clear my sinuses, it’ll give me a boost of energy and get me feeling pretty good.  ‘Wuddya  gotta lose”he said (Ted, was from New Jersey, yeah he really talked like that).

Hmmmm.   I headed over to JD’s.  I knew as soon as  I ordered, there would be questions, since it was not my usual, which they knew.

I got a curious stare from John the owner, and he asked me if I was trying something new.  Now, my nose was plugged, and my voice had that nasal/deep/trombone sound that that probably came back like “Jaw, I hab a code, Ted say dis is duh coor.”   Amused, he slid the cup across the counter.

As I started sipping the mocha I began to get my sense of taste back a little.  After a few minutes, my nose felt like it was clearing, ten minutes later, I could breathe through it again.  My aches started to fade, my lungs started to clear.  My heartbeat was a little faster.   Owcha Magowcha, this stuff works!

As I was back in the car driving, my energy started coming back.  I felt pretty darn good and started singing along with the radio.  Holy cow, my voice was back to normal.  Yeah maybe my singing still sucks, but my voice sounded restored.

This continued for a little over half an hour.  I changed my mind about going home sick.  And then, well, it started to wear thin.  Uh oh.

It was a little over an hour in time from ordering the mocha, when I strode into JD’s again, silly grin on my face, and ordered a second.  The reaction from John and the others behind the counter was a surprised look and “are you sure?” Oh, yeah,  I said, I’m feeling a lot better.  They made it, I took it, and started sipping before I walked toward the door.  I was a little anxious because I could feel my lungs and nasal passages getting heavier.

I sipped faster, feeling that my first cup dose was starting to crash. But this time the reaction to the second dosage was much faster.  Just as I was starting to feel like crap, I felt a slow buildup on my heartbeat again, and after a few minutes, was breathing free and clear and feeling good.   

I was again energetic, but knew it wouldn’t be long.  I made the mocha last longer, sipping each time I felt I was slowing down.   It didn’t last as long this time.  45 minutes after I left I was back at JD’s.  Like a junkie needing a fix, I was tense.  As I stood in line waiting for my turn at the counter, it felt like like I was sinking, and fast.

John looked at me and said, “If you want another mocha I’m gonna need a doctor’s note.”  Heh,heh, yeah,  read the room.   “John-I-really-need-a-mocha-now!”  Ooookkkkkaaaaayyyy, he said, but this is the last one.  Agreed. 

I took my sweet time drinking it this time, knowing it had to last.   Again there was a rebound, but more gradual.  I could feel my heartbeat pounding pretty hard, and everything was working great.  I was sweating a little, and didn’t know if that meant I had broke a fever or started a cardiac issue. Either way, it meant I should stop drinking this stuff.  And I definitely needed to stop singing;  I was getting strange looks. 

I was talking a little too fast, sweating, and had more energy than a sick guy should.   

It wore off.  And I let it go, realizing it was a short term repair, not a solution.   A lot of people told me after the fact, that that combination would have kept them up until 2 am, if not all night.  Huh, to each his own.  When I got home that night I fell asleep after dinner and didn’t wake up until 9 am the next day.

The other day I saw an ad online for Starbucks cans of Triple Shot Mocha, which they now label as an Extra Strength Energy Boost drink.  You might want to stock up, it’s cold and flu season.  But after the first couple tries, trust me, switch to chicken noodle soup. Or,buy a crash helmet, because one is coming. 

IS THAT YOUR MOM?

I was flying to Denver with my wife and parents.  At the airport security screen, I was the sole person pulled out of line for “random search”.  I cooperated, was searched while my family waited for me to catch up, and rejoined them.   I was miffed because I was the sole person on the flight searched.

But as I rejoined my lovely wife, she assured me it was just a coincidence.  She said I was reading too much into it, and told me a pleasant smile and friendly comment would get me through next time.

So.  Flying back from Denver with wife and parents again, my wife and I checked in, and waited for my parents to catch up.  My mom and dad came over to where we we sitting, then went to the check-in counter.  When they did,  my mom left her bag a few feet away from us, and spotting it, I went over to get it and bring it to her at the counter.  Before I reached it, the clerk at the counter was asking them if they had bags to check, and the security question about if their bags had been under their exclusive control prior to check in.    

Oh, yes, mom said, it’s right here, and looked down to her left.  “Oh, my, “she said, “where did it go?‘  She was talking loud enough that people 30 feet away were looking up to see what all the commotion was about.   “Inside voice”  I’m whispering to myself, wondering why older people do that.  `And she looked up and saw me, and burst out, ‘THERE it is, over there, with my SON, he has it! “ She pointed me out, and as I approached with bag and returned it, the clerk looked at me like a teacher who caught a student cheating.   Ohhhhhh crud, I thought.   

As we headed toward the plane to board, guess who was pulled out of line for “random search”? They explained to me it was merely a routine precautionary procedure.  Uh huh.  Yeah, I understand awkward statements from parents, and my mom didn’t understand how what she said had been in any way problematic. She also didn’t understand what I said about voice volume.  

 Turns out my wife’s sage advice about smiling and complimenting didn’t impress airport security either.  They VERY carefully searched the optimistic-randomly-selected-passenger-with-a-positive-attitude.   Then I proceeded to board, last person to get on the plane thanks to slow thoroughness of the search party.   

Moms, gotta love em.  And yeah, they give you some predicaments you thought only existed in sitcoms.  And to this day, the words “random selection” make me roll my eyes and groan a little.