Wednesday, November 30, 2005
'Tis The Season To Stalk Your Girlfriend, Fa La La La,
The Christmas season is once again here, bringing with it all the lovely golfing shopping weather that we Zonies know and love. TFMCD has been on a couple of shopping excursions already, and I've managed to avoid involvement so far. I was not blessed with the "shopping gene," so if I need something, I go to Costco and get whatever they have on hand. I'd sooner have my back hair yanked out with epoxy than go shopping. But my time is coming. I'm a man, but I can change, if I have to, I guess. Which, surprisingly enough, reminds me of a story:
It was a few Yuletides back, when TFMCD and I worked just down the hall from one another and car pooled to work every day. Before going home one fine afternoon, she prevailed upon me to run by a "Joanne's Fabrics" in Ahwatukee to pick up....well, whatever it is women buy in that place. Stuff to make other stuff with. Christmas stuff. Oh, and if you don't know how to pronounce "Ahwatukee," you're probably from someplace cold and/or wet. Look it up.
Anyway, once we arrived, I declined to actually enter the testosterone-free zone, electing instead to wait in the truck and listen to the radio. I got bored after a few minutes of that, and began to dig around in my truck to see what I could find to amuse myself. It was right under my seat that I hit paydirt: My binoculars.
Fantastic!
I began to glass all around, looking at the radio towers on South Mountain, seeing how far away I could actually read license plates, just generally screwing around, when a thought struck me: "I wonder if I can actually spot TFMCD inside Joanne's?"
So, still just sitting there in my truck, I began to scope out Joanne's to see if I could find her among the racks of cloth, thread, and crafty shit. Within moments, having not located her, I grew bored with the binoculars and slid them back under the seat. I then just laid my head back against the headrest to see if I could relax for a few minutes while TFMCD wrapped up her shopping.
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping. I looked over, and saw immediately that it weren't no damn raven. All I saw was a large blue thing with a lovely gold badge pinned to it. It was a Phoenix patrol officer, who literally filled my entire window with only the area between his Glock .40 and his neck. Somewhat discombobulated at that point, I looked out the passenger window, finding yet another 27-acre body with a gold badge pinned to it.
I rolled down my window, and was immediately hit with:
Just what are you doing here?
"Ummm, errr, waiting for my wife?"
OK, so maybe it was not the wisest thing to phrase the statement as though it were actually a question.
Oh, your wife, huh? Would you step out of the vehicle please?
Of course, I complied.
What's with the binoculars?
It took me a second. Hell, I'd almost forgotten about them. "Oh, I was just screwing around with them looking for my wife inside the store."
Looking for her, huh? You sure you weren't stalking her? Let's see some ID.
I pulled my ID out of my wallet, which I had dropped onto the driveway and run over with my truck a few days before. The license was in three pieces. "Stalking? Yeah, right. Geez, if I'd known it was crime to let her go in there alone, I'd have gone with her. I swear! Can I just get a warning?"
Very funny, Mr. fin. (he was reading only the lower right-hand piece)But stalking is not funny. It's a serious matter.
"I get that, but I'm just waiting for my wife. I don't know what you're talking about."
OK, so if we go in there and talk to your "wife," she's going to tell us the same story, right?
It was at that moment, thank God, that I spotted TFMCD walking back to the truck. "You don't have to go inside," I tell him, "She's right there."
Is this man your husband?
Of course, TFMCD had to play if for just a moment. "I have no idea who that man is." Just as Officer #1 was reaching for the cuffs, she says "Just kidding. If by stalking, you mean married to me for 25 years, then I guess he's a stalker."
Turns out some guy with a truck just like mine was, in fact, stalking an ex-girlfriend, who coincidentally just happened to work at Joanne's. Employees were keeping an eye out for this idiot, and a guy retrieving shopping carts saw me looking into the store with binoculars. Next thing you know, 9-1-1 is called and two units swoop down on me like Charles Manson.
The officers, as you should expect, turned out to be really good guys. They apologized for jacking my ass up in the parking lot, shook my hand, and went inside to report to the "victim." I pictured her watching through the window, ecstatic that this asshole was finally about to get caught, then seeing my harmless ass dragged out of the truck. Damn! Not him!
I didn't go back to Joanne's for lo-o-o-ong time, until after I traded in that truck. And I went inside.
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It was a few Yuletides back, when TFMCD and I worked just down the hall from one another and car pooled to work every day. Before going home one fine afternoon, she prevailed upon me to run by a "Joanne's Fabrics" in Ahwatukee to pick up....well, whatever it is women buy in that place. Stuff to make other stuff with. Christmas stuff. Oh, and if you don't know how to pronounce "Ahwatukee," you're probably from someplace cold and/or wet. Look it up.
Anyway, once we arrived, I declined to actually enter the testosterone-free zone, electing instead to wait in the truck and listen to the radio. I got bored after a few minutes of that, and began to dig around in my truck to see what I could find to amuse myself. It was right under my seat that I hit paydirt: My binoculars.
Fantastic!
I began to glass all around, looking at the radio towers on South Mountain, seeing how far away I could actually read license plates, just generally screwing around, when a thought struck me: "I wonder if I can actually spot TFMCD inside Joanne's?"
So, still just sitting there in my truck, I began to scope out Joanne's to see if I could find her among the racks of cloth, thread, and crafty shit. Within moments, having not located her, I grew bored with the binoculars and slid them back under the seat. I then just laid my head back against the headrest to see if I could relax for a few minutes while TFMCD wrapped up her shopping.
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping. I looked over, and saw immediately that it weren't no damn raven. All I saw was a large blue thing with a lovely gold badge pinned to it. It was a Phoenix patrol officer, who literally filled my entire window with only the area between his Glock .40 and his neck. Somewhat discombobulated at that point, I looked out the passenger window, finding yet another 27-acre body with a gold badge pinned to it.
I rolled down my window, and was immediately hit with:
Just what are you doing here?
"Ummm, errr, waiting for my wife?"
OK, so maybe it was not the wisest thing to phrase the statement as though it were actually a question.
Oh, your wife, huh? Would you step out of the vehicle please?
Of course, I complied.
What's with the binoculars?
It took me a second. Hell, I'd almost forgotten about them. "Oh, I was just screwing around with them looking for my wife inside the store."
Looking for her, huh? You sure you weren't stalking her? Let's see some ID.
I pulled my ID out of my wallet, which I had dropped onto the driveway and run over with my truck a few days before. The license was in three pieces. "Stalking? Yeah, right. Geez, if I'd known it was crime to let her go in there alone, I'd have gone with her. I swear! Can I just get a warning?"
Very funny, Mr. fin. (he was reading only the lower right-hand piece)But stalking is not funny. It's a serious matter.
"I get that, but I'm just waiting for my wife. I don't know what you're talking about."
OK, so if we go in there and talk to your "wife," she's going to tell us the same story, right?
It was at that moment, thank God, that I spotted TFMCD walking back to the truck. "You don't have to go inside," I tell him, "She's right there."
Is this man your husband?
Of course, TFMCD had to play if for just a moment. "I have no idea who that man is." Just as Officer #1 was reaching for the cuffs, she says "Just kidding. If by stalking, you mean married to me for 25 years, then I guess he's a stalker."
Turns out some guy with a truck just like mine was, in fact, stalking an ex-girlfriend, who coincidentally just happened to work at Joanne's. Employees were keeping an eye out for this idiot, and a guy retrieving shopping carts saw me looking into the store with binoculars. Next thing you know, 9-1-1 is called and two units swoop down on me like Charles Manson.
The officers, as you should expect, turned out to be really good guys. They apologized for jacking my ass up in the parking lot, shook my hand, and went inside to report to the "victim." I pictured her watching through the window, ecstatic that this asshole was finally about to get caught, then seeing my harmless ass dragged out of the truck. Damn! Not him!
I didn't go back to Joanne's for lo-o-o-ong time, until after I traded in that truck. And I went inside.
