"This is Officer Dumbass, I got a car taking pictures of really bad Holiday Displays - I'm bringing her in..."

Tuesday, December 06, 2005

To fully appreciate the story I am about to tell, you must understand and accept two facts:

My Husband has no Memory. He has been kicked in the head repeatedly during kickboxing matches when he was a teen and young adult. I am lucky he recognizes me on a daily basis.
My husband Loves his mangy old cars.

Right now, we are in the process of having last rites pronounced on his beloved 1986 Jaguar XJ6. I have been encouraging him to pull the plug on this car for two years now. It has cost an Obscene amount of money to have repaired, and it runs sporadically, at best.

However, he Loves this foolish car. He loves the way other guys look at this car. He loves pulling up to places and getting out of this behemoth. He Struts when he is around this vehicle. I think of it as his visible, un-vascetomied penis.

It can no longer be inspected, for there are too many things wrong with the car. Even he has come to slowly accept the fact that this car cannot be salvaged.

So he has been staying at home. I work, and commute about 23 miles one way to work. I get the car. He suffers by staying at home.

So here is where the story begins. Emily has Tap on Tuesdays. It starts at 4:30. There is no feasible way for us to split one car into several segments to go in opposite directions of the state. Sometimes, my friend Denise picks me up and takes me to and from work. However, she is on a business trip, so what are we to do?

Rent a car. Yes. That is our solution. It coincides nicely with the fact that he has to be at the airport on Wednesday at 4:30 am, and I have no desire to drive the 35 miles to the airport, drop him off, to turn around and drive 35 miles back, get the child to sleep for an hour, only to get her back up and then get her ready for school. Do I look like I need more torture?

Last night at 7 p.m., my husband says “Lets’ go to the Airport and pick up the Car”
All right. No problem. Good Plan, Chief.

We bundle the child, and drive the 35 miles to the Airport. I marvel at the god-awful Christmas decorations on the way to the airport. We pull up to the airport at 8:07 p.m.

T: “See you at home, honey.”
D: “Do you have everything you need? Phone, Wallet?”
T: “Yep, here’s my phone, here’s my…Hey…Huh…. Where’s my wallet?” Is my wallet over there?

Oh yes. He has indeed forgotten his wallet. 35 miles away.

It is so typical, that I almost laugh. I hold back, because he is also so angry that I fear the Stroke is imminent. But …it…is…so…funny….

So we drive 35 miles back to our house and fetch his wallet. It is sitting there on the coffee table. We all take a potty break, and head back to the airport. It is 8:47 p.m.. I formulate a new reason to go on the trip. I will document the hideously decorated houses for my Internet friends. I will call it “When Christmas Decorations go to Hell”. Tee-Hee. I have a plan!!

We drive 35 miles back to the airport. Emily wakes up just as he is getting out of the car in the airport and yells, “Daddy, do you have your wallet? Do you have it?”
He does not answer her.

I bite my gloved hand to keep from laughing.

I start to drive back home. I have a plan for which houses I will stop and take photos for my planned blog entry. Woo Hoo. My evening is not wasted.

I pull over and take the first house photo. I am in hysterics. This is going to be so funny.
Stop number 2 and 3 go smoothly. I jump out and take the photos and jump back in to my car and drive away. I think to myself “The inhabitants probably think I am photographing their house cause I LIKE their decorations, HAHAHAHAHA!”

As I stop to photograph the 4th house on my planned route, I realize I can’t get a good shot of the horror that is this particular yard. I would have to drive into the driveway and I just don’t want to commit to this level involvement at 9:30 p.m. I pull away from the shoulder and drive off.

Unbeknownst to me, I have a follower. I am “acting suspiciously”. I am pulled over about 7 minutes later.

“This is odd”, thinks Dawn. “I know I wasn’t speeding – one weekend in bad driver school taught me to never, never, never speed again. I wonder if I have a tail light out”

The Ginormous flood lights erupt into my car. I start finding my license and registration. I roll down my window. Officer Dumbass approaches

OFC Dumbass: “Good Evening Ma’am. I am Corporal Dumbass with the Podunk police department. May I have you license and registration?”
Me: “Sure – can I ask why you pulled me over?”
Ofc Dumbass: “Well, um, Ma’am. I noticed you pulled off the road back there and then pulled back onto the road and I just wanted to make sure everything was all right.”

I stare at him. Is pulling on and off the shoulder a crime? A glimmering light begins to emerge. He thinks I’m Drunk – or maybe on Drugs, or maybe smuggling drugs and drinking!!! I smile. A big, toothy grin. I hold up my digital camera in the air and say : “I was talking photos of Christmas lights”.

Ofc Dumbass: “Oh (very long pause). Oh. Well, Ok. I’ll be right back”

He is Clearly embarrassed. He thought he was pulling over a drunk drug dealer and he gets me, in my orange Halloween witch flannel PJ bottoms and the matching T-shirt that says “Spooky”. For extra effect, I am wearing a non-matching headband of brown and blue flowers. And I am grinning at him. I am indeed "Spooky".

Now, I give him the fact that these were terrible Holiday displays. I can see why he thought I may be drunk to be taking pictures of such hideousness. If he were a police officer with the "Queer Eye" holiday display sqaud, he would have every reason to pull me over. As he was not, he did the only thing any self respecting heterosexual male could do. He walks back to my car and says :

“Ok, Ma,am. You know if you are looking for nice displays, there is one around the corner of the town gazebo, that would be great for pictures.”

Me: “No, I have to get my daughter home and in bed. I was just taking pictures if they were on my way home.”

Ofc Dumbass: “Well, Ok, Ma’am. I’m going to give you this slip of paper saying that I was just doing a check up and you drive safe all right?”

Me: “OK, Thanks”

He walks back to his vehicle and lowers the wattage on his floodlights. The back of my head is no longer on fire. I am grinning. I begin to laugh. Dude, I am SOOOOO talking about you on my blog tomorrow!!

Busted for trying to mock people, again.

11 Baleful Regards:

Anonymous said...

I had to stifle my laughing at my desk.
He forgot it TWICE??

I think I bit my hand, too. ow.

Table4Five said...

What is it with you and the police? You're a white lady living in New Hampshire for heaven's sake! Now if your husband was getting hassled by Parade Police and Officer Dumbass, that might (unfortunately) make sense.

Julie Marsh said...

Where are the pictures? I want to see the hideous pictures!

And do I understand correctly that the one car you guys own is a Jag? An OLD Jag?

Mind you, I'd love to have a Jag, but even un-mechanically-inclined me knows that Jags are a maintenance nightmare.

Anonymous said...

I have to echo Elizabeth: you are a cop magnet. Remind me not to let you drive the getaway car.

Also, can't wait to see ugly X-mas decorations!

Anonymous said...

Yes,I'd think after the trauma of being oppressed by The Man, you could use the creative release of posting those pics.

I'll also take this moment to thank God I know you didn't get any shots of my house.

Anonymous said...

J and I used to take pics of ugly Christmas displays, too. I was planning to put them all in a scrapbook and keep them all on my coffee table for entertainment. Ah, memories.

I don't get the whole Dawn/police thing either. Maybe you just look suspicious.

Anonymous said...

just tryin to keep whitey down...

pics soon I hope.

Dawn said...

I woke up this morning wondering what about me makes me such a "cop" Magnet.

I am beginning to think it's the Estee Lauder "Miracle Intense" that I wear. Maybe I smell suspicious?

Yeah, that's me. I Smell Dangerous.
That and being a race traitor.

Anonymous said...

Dawn, you are a way better person than I am, 'cause if I drove 32 miles to the airport to find out that my husband had forgotten to bring his wallet, and then had to drive 32 miles back home and yet another 32 to get back to where we started, and this all at 8 o'clock at night---I would lose my shit in a most spectacular manner.

Diana said...

The cops are following you because they think your husband gives you the drugs as a cover-up. Hahaha. Stupid cops! (My husband looks like an Iraqi, he's spanish- we lose either way!)
I'm thinking on sending you photos of my neigh'hood, you can start an East Coast Collector's Book.

halloweenlover said...

I can't believe you said you were a race traitor. I just spit coffee all over my keyboard.

Did he notice Emily in the car? You should have made a big show of her wanting to see the Christmas lights and introducing her to crazy cop.

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