As a group, I don't like cops. Some reasons relate to my la-di-da views on authority, some because I have not generally had positive interactions with specific cops because I am not especially law-abiding except when I happen to actually agree with the law (litterbugs suck! no spitting!) and some because plenty of cops seem to go out of their way to prove themselves as jackasses, whether it's line-of-duty idiocy a la WTO 'riot' or just dumb-guy-who-hasn't-been-taught-to-keep-shut idiocy. (Grammar note: No idea if "keep shut" is a specific Tidewater hick-ism or more widespread hick-ism, but it's one I like.)
Not knowing what to is the proper disposal method for baggies of ammo, Sweetie called the local precinct on Saturday morning. The woman he spoke with thought it was funny (a bag of BULLETS? Weeeelllll, haven't heard THAT one before, honey!), and said somebody'd be out to pick them up later. A few hours later a car pulls up, cops get out and immediately fuss at another driver, and then comes to the door. I was on the phone, and cops make me agitated, so I excused myself from the room.
Sweetie's story is that the cop was clearly annoyed at having to fill out a report, and grumbled about "she said we'd come get them?" and such. He didn't actually say we should've just thrown them away, but there was this exchange:
Popo: Do any of these fit your weapon, sir?
Sweetie: Ah-ha-ha-ha! A gun? I don't have a gun.
Popo: What, and you live in this neighborhood? [Imagine if he'd said that to Sweetie while we were on Cap Hill, the gayest neighborhood of this big gay city. Which is not anywhere near as gay as my midwestern college town, but I digress.]
Sweetie (for the win): Well, aside from the prostitution and drug dealing on that corner, it's really quiet.
[fade to black]
Sweetie also requested that I post this photo.
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