By Wyatt Earp | September 23, 2010
As regular readers know, most of my True Detective Stories involve either victims/complainants or the thugs who prey on them. Police officers and fellow detectives are not immune, but they are usually less idiotic than the others.
Not in this case. Please read the following completely true story and pity me, for I am a police detective.
While waiting for the end of our tour last night, two officers came into the division. Both have reputations that precede them. Reputations that are not flattering. The first officer, a tall thin man with a skull like an Easter Island statue, gives off a distinct “tough guy” image. Way too cool for the rest of us, he usually struts into the room, ignores the “little people” and goes about his business. The second officer, a short thin man, has a giant Napoleon complex. While standing only about 5’6″, he has ten feet of attitude. The man has only been on the force for a few years, but knows everything there is to know about the job. Just ask him, he’ll tell you.
So these two enter the room to see a group of us sitting near my desk. We’re passing the time talking about chicks, sports and Seinfeld, and stopped only to collectively roll our eyes at the tools. They brush past us and go about their business.
And then it happened.
Easter Island walked up to my desk, said nothing, and pointed over my shoulder. I turned around, expecting to see a spider or a co-worker giving me devil horns with his fingers, but there was nothing there. I looked back at Easter Island and he stares at me. Without saying a word.
Then he points again. I think to myself, “What the f**k is this jerkoff’s problem?” I refuse to turn around again, figuring if he wants something, he’ll open his frakkin’ mouth. Nope, he still points and stares.
It’s been about a minute and a half now and it’s getting really uncomfortable. I do not, however, give in. I stare back at him, wondering who will speak first. The guy points again, without a word.
Finally, he says, “Gimme that.” I turned around and he is pointing at the shelf. It is currently occupied by a roll of toilet paper – for cleaning the computer screens – scotch tape, and report books. I look back and was about to ask him what the f**k he wanted, since he was pointing at multiple items, when he pointed more directly at the t.p. It was raining and Easter Island’s glasses were wet, but that was not enough for him to clarify what he wanted or ask without being a douchebag. No “please,” just “Gimme that.”
I wanted to let this guy know – in my patented snarky sarcasm – that he was knee-deep in douchebaggery, but the lieutenant was right there. He probably wouldn’t look too kindly at my throwing the t.p. at Easter Island’s colossal head, so I handed it to him, without a word. Easter Island took it and walked away from my desk. Paralyzed with rage, I wanted to gauge the impressions of my fellow detectives. I have a rather short temper, so I wanted to know if I was justified in thinking this guy was a dick. Before I could ask, I heard the following:
“What a f**king asshole.”
“Mr. Tough Guy, huh?”
“Guy’s not a tool. He’s the whole f**king shed.”
A few moments later, Easter Island brings back the roll of t.p. and holds it out. I am reclining in my chair, so I wasn’t leaning up for this asshat – especially since he could just put it on the desk. Apparently, he wanted another battle of wills. I didn’t give him the satisfaction. I leaned toward him, grabbed my cellphone, turned away from him, and started searching for new ring-tones. Easter Island didn’t appreciate the snub – he’s important, after all – and after a few seconds, dropped the t.p. on my desk and left.
Now I ask you: If I shoved the t.p. down his throat, would any court convict me of assault?