Maybe I need to take a day off

Threw a party Friday night for Whims…a friend who decided to leave the workplace for much greener pastures. The party was about two hours old. The beer was walking on its own from the fridge to the guests’ hands. Then someone on the deck whispered, “The police are here.”

I felt like I was in college again. I’m old enough to have friends with two walking-age children and the police are at my house. What the hell is going on in my life?

Then my pseudo-knowledge of local law enforcement rules kicked into play.

“Is the car blue or white?” I asked, looking around to make sure nothing too illegal was going on.

“White.”

I felt somewhat safer. The city’s white cars would be out of their jurisdiction if they were in my neighborhood. Only the County’s blue cars would be arresting me or anybody else there. I still looked around to make sure that ritual sacrifice that the guests were talking about hadn’t started yet.

“Is the number on the car 31?” I asked…with a little less urgency this time.

“Doesn’t look like it.”

That was good. Corporal Donnie Greenway drives car 31. He lives down the street. We know each other in passing, but he’s not the the type of guy to just drop by. If he was at my house it was probably because the neighbors asked him to come put a scare in me. After all…I do have a bad…bad reputation.

Then…the blue lights came on and painted my little ‘burbian house in police colors. What the hell? I heard the familiar crack of the loud speaker microphone being keyed. Then, echoing through my neighborhood, “WE’RE LOOKING FOR WHIMS!” I looked around for Whims. I didn’t see him.

There was just about half a second of fear…followed by fantastic relief. I knew the voice. The car’s domelight popped on…I knew the faces.

In my inebraition I had forgotten that our graphics guy at work was married to a 14 year vet of the police department.

It was one of the better laughs I’d had in a long time. We all stayed up much to late congratulating our buddy.

Then… I had to get to up to cover the murder trial I wrote about last week. The jury is sequestered…so we’re working on the weekend. Part of the testimony involved what the cops found when they went inside…including a bowl of half-eaten brown rice.

My stomach growled.

I’m so jaded, tired, and hungover that the first reaction my body has (after testimony about two women were beaten, tied up, and stabbed to death) is to a bowl of rice.

Maybe I should’ve eaten breakfast.

Or maybe I’m just a sick twist who needs to go on vacation.