So I hung out with a cop yesterday. A girl cop. Damn, cops are intense. And seem to like to drink. Always. Maybe I should become a cop. Yeah. Right. It was funny, too, because it seems like it would be such a mismatch. I've always felt like a trouble-maker. Or at least trouble. So I was a little nervous, I'll say, to befriend a cop. I met her at the restaurant. She's one of our bar customers. Of course. I gotta say, I'm so glad we didn't meet at her job. Doesn't seem like arresting a friend would be mad fun. Not that I've ever been arrested. Knock wood. So, the cop's cool. Same age as me. Not putting up with any more nonsense or bull honkey. Just living her life. Gotta respect that.
There are quite a few stories that I can't wait to share from hanging out with this chick. But we'll start with Mr. PCP. As a rookie cop, just out of school, she got the night beat in Harlem. And she tells this one story about a 6'4" man on PCP who has just broken his girlfriend's jaw, and my friend has to cuff him. Apparently, of drug addicts, PCP junkies are the worst. They have superhuman strength, believe that they can do anything, jump from buildings, fly, stop cars, bullets. So this 5'6" 120 lb. rookie girl has to get him restrained and handcuffed. In the midst of this, he mentions that there's no way he's going back to jail. Great. One who already knows the drill and is opting to put up a fight. Turns out the rookie has a secret tactic. Anytime she can't get the suspect to surrender and assume the position, she pinches. On the neck, back of the arm, anywhere. With both hands. And it works. Every time. Now that's thinking on your feet.
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