I’M NOT IN JAIL, BUT…
Officer briefly interrupting his conversation with an inappropriately clothed for 30 degree weather chick speaking in a weird accent which Dawn likes to assume is Swedish:
“Ma’am, you can’t come through here with a box.”
Me, smiling sweetly and being totally respectful and polite as I carried my Christmas gift over to the party: Okay, but how far North do I have to go to be able to walk across to ninth.
Officer annoyed that I have once again interrupted his conversation with the Swede: No boxes through here.
Me, no longer smiling, but still respectful and polite: Yes, but how far North do I —
Officer: NO BOXES
Me, no longer smiling, no longer respectful, no longer polite: Yeah, I got that. I speak English. And yes, even though I’m black, I actually live in this city and pay taxes (voice in head: Dawn don’t say the ‘which pays your salary’ part) that pay your salary (voice in head: well, ok, you’re mad and I guess we did send out the plea for bail money in advance, just don’t call him any names.) Now, I don’t understand why I have to become a complete bitch for you to answer my simple question, but I guess bitch is the only language an asshole understands. NOW, how far up does this blockade go?
Officer, now fully paying attention: Umm..you could try 57th, but they’re not going to let you through.
Me: Thank You.
Officer and completely horrified Swede stare at me as I cross the street and promptly hail a cab to take me across Times Square.
Fucking brilliant impenetrable security system they have going there.