MY JOB

Continuing my women and cop theme. When I saw the trooper on the Palisades waving that big bag of what from my (and the cop's) perspective looked like psychedelic mushrooms, my shiveled little heart constricted even more. I couldn't hear what they were saying but I saw a big grin come across the guitar player's face. What could he find so funny? Then the trooper ran his fingers through my friend's long grey hair, dug around a little in Friendly's purse and eventually joined me in the cruiser. He started the car and craned his neck around to me. "You have a couple of good friends there." he said, flipping the siren and pulling back on the parkway "They wouldn't say anything." I was bursting at the seams to ask what was in the bag but said nothing either. A mile down the road we got off at the New City exit. "Dried banannas." the statey said, as if he read my mine. Phew!
Turned out the cop was a nice guy. When I said we were coming from a particular lake he said he knew it well. He was a fisherman. He started a little lecture on drug abuse and I cut him off. "Look." I said now realizing nothing worse was going to happen "You got me. It's your job and I don't begrudge you. But my job is to be an artist. I'm not an air traffic controller or train conductor. My job is to smoke a little pot and once in a while...." I stopped my big mouth remembering that Miranda thing. Anything you say can and will......
Once at the barracks he apologized for having to handcuff me to a bench and started the paper work and pictures. Other cops came and went laughing about the two old geezers with the hot young blond. One asked if we were Deadheads. I said we weren't. He looked disappointed. "Any scars or tattoos?" my arresting officer read off a sheet of paper. I lifted my shirt and began the tour. At first he thought they were some sort of Aryan Brotherhood ink. I had to explain each one. "This is for Exxon, this one is for the Masons and this one over here..." Various tattoos he wrote on the pad. Friendly put her hand on the glass window separating us (like they do in TV jail) and smiled. The guitar player gave the thumbs up. Two other troopers looked at the tattoos and one said "Cool."
Start to finish the whole experience only took a couple of hours. By the time we left the cops had given us coffee and were saying goodbye like old friends. On the way out the door I asked the fisherman if I had to really worry about the bust. "If this had been Manhattan." he said "It would be a desk appearance ticket. No big deal. But this ain't Manhattan. Plus that LSD is another matter. Go to court and see." We shook hands and that was that. I told him to stop by the lake some time and we'd wet our lines. He smiled. No way he was going to get in a boat with me. Friendly wrapped her arms around me and gave me a big kiss and whispered in my ear "I had an oz. of 'shrooms in my bag. He never saw it." Christ! Back to town we went. Yummy was waiting. I knew I would have to plead insanity. A room full of big state troopers was nothing compared to what lay ahead.