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You are reading the life, times, and general musings of Jenna Tollerson. I am an independent web developer living in and around Athens, Georgia, USA. [read more]
“Excuse me ma'am? Do you think that's where your cigarette butt goes?”
I could only stare bewildered at the officer for a moment. “Sir?”
CB stood next to me, also stopped in his tracks. I had just thrown the end of my cigarette onto the black asphalt, into the gutter as I stepped off of the curb. It was the middle of the day, and we were going across the street to grab a soda before heading back to work. This is not the time of day one is normally in trouble with the cops.
“Do you think that's where your cigarette butt goes?”
He was using a smug and condescending tone, sitting up above me on his bike on the curb, his mirrored sunglasses making him appear blank and impersonal.
They're kind of insect-like. I thought. But they probably make him feel safe.
There was no good answer for that question, so I replied interrogatively, trying to diffuse whatever was about to go down. “No?”
I so do not need this right now.
“You know, I stopped here just to watch you people. I see you out here everyday doing this. You know, those butts get in the water system and stop things up. And then someone has to fix it.”
“That's too bad.”
“Did you ever think about where that goes when you just throw it on the ground?”
“To be honest, sir, I never gave it much thought before.”
He looked at the ground and shook his head in an angry and exasperated way, as if I had just told him the deceased grandmother he adored as a child was actually the town whore. This statement was unacceptable.
“You know that's littering.”
“I realize that.”
“Do you know much that ticket is?”
“No, I don't.”
“It's pretty expensive.”
“I imagine so.”
At this point he just stared, confused that I wasn't cowering before his awesome ticketing power.
Meanwhile, I was now losing my patience with this man. “Sir, is there some kind of action you'd like me to take here? Are you just giving me a warning?”
He kept on his diatribe as if I hadn't spoken at all. As he spoke he rocked backwards and forwards on his bike, clutching the hand brake again and again in pure agitation. “You know, I live here, and I pay taxes, and those taxes pay for people to clean the street, but I don't think this is their job.”
It became clear then that I was not just dealing with a power-tripping cop; rather this gentleman took personal offense at the fly-by-night students that are dirtying is lovely city. Nevermind that the students are responsible for the prosperity of the entire city, and nevermind that I myself am not a fly-by-night student.
“Sir, what is it that you would like me to do, exactly?” Clock is ticking, dude.
“I'm going to give you a warning this time, but I would like you to pick your cigarette butt up.”
“Okay.” I turned with great flourish and retrived my butt from the array of them on the ground behind me. I could tell which one was mine because it was black.
I was more or less fuming and I don't remember if he even wished us a nice day. I carried the butt across the street with me and threw it in the trash.
CB spoke up in the relative safety of the elevator. “You know, what's clear is that you really don't like cops.”
“I was polite!”
“Kinda.”
“I'm just sick of getting into trouble for being young; I never had any problems with ACC cops before today. It was the Winder cops who were always the real assholes to me.”
“I know, you've told me.”
“I understand that the man has to enforce the law when he sees someone breaking it, but if I was twenty years older the whole conversation would have gone much differently. There was no reason for him to be so disrespectful.”
As I walked to my desk, I gave a great big smile to my boss and proclaimed to him and my coworkers that in the scant 15 minutes that I was downstairs, I had managed to get in trouble with the law!
I related the story to much laughter, with many exclaimations of aren't-there-any-real-criminals-to-deal-with.
Phillips let loose, “He's just upset because he's not getting any real action on the day shift. You should have told him that you know you pay more taxes than him because you know you are making more money than him!”
Then Dixon chimed in, “You could have just gone with the old classic: ‘You know, I pay your salary!’”
You are reading the life, times, and general musings of Jenna Tollerson. I am an independent web developer living in and around Athens, Georgia, USA. [read more]
