Friday, October 22, 2004

From the Files of Police Squad

As part of the terms for my new employment I was required to submit myself this afternoon to a full Police Security Check at the station downtown.

What an extremely unnerving experience it is to wait in the reception area at the Police Station while some anonymous clerk scrutinizes and analyses your criminal past to find out all those naughty, secret, and forgotten indiscretions from your misspent youth committed in states of dedicated inebriation that would make Nick Nolte’s toxicology report look like a primary school report card.

I kept expecting at any moment, a badged goon squad ala-Fahrenheit 451 would appear suddenly out of the shadows and carry me away to a padded cell in the stations remotest out-of-the-way dungeon and throw away the key for some long ago high school prank involving a bottle of Jack Daniels, fireworks and a herd of unsuspecting cattle.

What I got in the end was a lamer Marcus Brody from 'Raiders of the Lost Ark' cleaning his fingernails with the end of a bended paper clip, and reeking of Kenacome *. Not exactly the menacing Defender of the Court Records that I was imagining.

Won’t that be embarrassing to have to explain to your Human Resource officer that just because you were charged with ‘Disturbing the Peace’ back in 1994 by shoving lit firecrackers up the asses of neighborhood alley cats, that it doesn’t also mean that you arn't able to be a positive, productive asset to the company (providing of course, that there aren’t any little four-legged temptations running around the workfloor). After all, we're older and wiser now, right? Or is it simply that we've gotten older and the cows have become a harder to catch?

When you think about it though, what Human Resource officer wouldn’t automatically be a little suspicious and weary of any man who hasn’t committed a single crime or reported disturbance at least once in his life? No public drunkenness, no domestic disputes, not even a single flaming bag of dogshit; if it were me, I would think that the person in question was either a complete fairy with the disposition of a wet mop, or that they were the criminal mastermind of the century who hasn’t managed to get caught yet. Either way, I’m not exactly going to want them sitting and working in the cubicle next to mine am I?

As it turns out, I am an outstanding bondable member of society. And I now have the $40 receipt for the blank rap sheet to prove it. Fucking A! Time to celebrate, tie one on, and then go out and commit me some completely juvenile irresponsible act of wanton debauchery with absolutely no respect or mind for public safety whatsoever. WOO-HOO!

* Yes, sadly and ashamedly I admit that I can easily recognize the distinct smell of three different brands of prescription anti-fungal cream...but that's another story.


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