Wednesday, July 17, 2002
From The Brain of the Giant Head
Hey Officer, Quit Poking At My Man Muscle
I think I’m a fairly normal-looking guy, aside from the size of my giant head. Occasionally I might skip a day or four of shaving or avoid showering till the 15th of the month, but other than that there’s not much difference between me and your average suburban kid. Well, not everyone thinks so.
I was travelling down 74 East back to Cincinnati (a five-hour drive) for a family event. I had only stopped 11 times to pee, which is four off my average. Two burgers from the Home of the Whopper later, I crossed the state boarder into Ohio, the place where famous people stay away from at all costs because they know they might get infected with a case of the stupids. The cruise control was set. Johnny Cash was bumping out the stereo. Everything was just hunky-dory.
Then, I saw the same set of red and blue lights flashing I saw on an episode of Cops.
It was a cop.
This mean, balding, midget of a cop pulled me over for reasons that made about as much sense as brushing your teeth before going to the dentist. We had an opening exchange that went something like this:
Me: How’s it going officer?
Confused and a bit terrified, I handed him my license, registration, and car insurance card. My hands were shaking faster than a politician’s at a primary, I was so nervous. And it showed.
Officer Midget: Get the hell out of the car! (meaning-‘Step out so we can chat’).
I got out of the car. He made me open up my trunk and dump everything out on the side of the highway, including two jugs of windshield-wiper fluid, a Joey Lawrence CD, and my Spiderman underwear. Lucky for me, I left my WonderWoman underwear at home.
Officer Midget: Put your hands up against the car! (meaning-‘Put your hands against the car’).
He began to roughly pat down my sides with a cocky smirk on his face, as if I was a murder convict that escaped two days earlier from the state penitentiary and he caught me by using his supreme ‘intelligence.’ Only slightly offended, I would have forgiven him if had let me go right them. Unfortunately, he only grabbed me tighter.
As the pat-down continued I felt movement crawly up my leg. All of a sudden I realized his dumb midget hands were fondling my go-betweens right there on the side of the highway!?! He rubbed around, poking and grabbing and yanking -- and getting a little too much enjoyment out of it.
Finally, after 45 minutes of him sniffing around for cocaine and pot and every other drug that didn’t exist, he let me go. But before I could get away he made one final note.
Officer Midget: I pulled you over because you swerved a little bit in the lane.
Are you kidding me!?! Swerved!?! If he was going to lie he could have at least made up something more exciting like, ‘I pulled you over because I thought you might have been a Nazi James Bond double agent and be selling illegal narcotics to children with large heads.’
There was at least one bright spot, though. His midget hands now smelled like a man who hadn’t showered in weeks. It was only the 14th of the month.