Just when I was ready to lock and load behind a barbecue barricade, the police decide to do something thoughtful. I was making the turn onto my street past an unmarked car [i.e., black with no chrome and M plates] that had a cop looking person driving.
Next thing I know he's waving to me -- turning his car around and following me into my driveway. I have never seen this guy in my life.
Why does a police officer in my town know what I look like? Did they pull up that mug shot from fifteen years ago when I was arrested for driving on a suspended license because I didn't know my pollution sticker wasn't up to date?
My Paris Hilton moment was so total that I didn't even know what a pollution sticker [or AIR TEAM sticker to be exact] was back then. Or more accurately, I had ignored all the letters that said I had to get one. So I'd missed the notice INSIDE the last one that warned, YOUR LICENSE WILL BE SUSPENDED, blah blah blah.
These days they put the suspension notice ON THE FRONT of the letter. Hey, my people are supposed to handle that stuff. But after getting stopped for having a headlight out, I got hauled off to the station for a photo, fingerprints and everything else, after they ran my license.
If you thought Nick Nolte looked bad, you should see the pissed off expression on my face for that photo. While most people my age were getting arrested in the sixties, I waited until I was getting closer to sixty to be handcuffed. And not those really nice angora ones either.
At least I didn't have to spend a night in jail because, for some reason [a pizza party?], I had $100 on me -- enough to bail myself out.
Today, as I got out of my car I saw the officer's nameplate and it was the Commander I'd talked to on the phone. He figured since he had to be out and about today, he would drive by my house to talk to me if I were around.
He was being a nice guy. Luckily one of my neighbors works in the records division. He said she had told him many nice things about me. I told him I had always liked her, until she had gone over to the dark side working for them. He laughed.
We both pretty much badmouthed the lady from the village who had contact with me but failed to let the police know before they broke in. They were as embarrassed as I was upset. When she asked for the "wellness check" she told the cops a story about nobody seeing me around for months. Supposedly this was the report she got from unidentified neighbors, who should be required to identify themselves. Maybe it wasn't the asshead two doors down from me who complained about my dry cleaning, although my gut says he's the one. But that's the problem -- I'm paranoid now. I no longer trust anyone on my street.
When I called and asked the woman later that day why she hadn't called off the "wellness check" she told me she didn't have her cell phone with her. The Commander said, "That's B.S." Like I said, he seemed like a nice guy. Apparently there is still ongoing fallout from her screw up.
Oh good, now getting her fired can be my new aim in life.
The Commander couldn't have been nicer, asking what the police could do for me. I told him I wanted to bomb the unidentified neighbors for their mean spiritedness and he gave me a couple of flares from his trunk. He said that after tonight they'd also have a boatload of illegal fireworks he'd drop off.
I told him I always wanted to have a firing range in my back yard.
Okay, I'll stop with the jokes.
Actually I asked the Commander to figure out some way to undo what had been done to my peace of mind, because I was okay before all this mess and now I've been having anxiety dreams.
Then I started doing one of those things where you can't talk because you're trying not to cry. I'm sure I was making one of those ugly cry faces too. I wish I could say it was planned, but it was an OUTBLURST moment. I said I was crying because he was nice enough to take the time to stop by and talk to me. And all my pent up frustration was in my tears. I also said if I could, I'd put a gold star on his permanent record. He laughed, but I could see he was also getting that "Hmmmm, is she a crazy woman?" look on his face.
I also had him go up to the kitchen window to see if he could see any lights on as the responding officers claimed. He couldn't. He said it's too hard to see lights on in a house during the day. I said, "Exactly." I also had him try to pound on my unlocked back door and make it open. It didn't budge. And this guy isn't tiny.
I finished up by saying whoever wrote up the report didn't have their facts straight as far as I was concerned. I stopped short of calling the responding officers flat out liars.
After he left I had a good nose drooling cry and got some of the residual anxiety and anger out of my system.
Now I can look forward to the day when that beyotch at the village has to start looking for new employment. A girl can dream can't she?