Georgia Cops ain't all bad, by Russ

Since the police force seems to be the focus of this week's posts, we'll finish the week off with one more. I have to dig way back into the dusty recesses of my mind to remember this one. We even need to back to a previous decade, century, millennium. All the way back to 1999! (if you want to party like it's 1999, please do so. I was one of those smug bastards that didn't celebrate the new millennium until 2001.)

You remember 1999, don't you? I was busy answering questions that I didn't care about for my impending wedding. (Really anything not having to do with the food or the monkey suits, I didn't care about. Jasper had the bachelor party under control, so I was footloose and fancy free!) Other than that, I don't remember much about 1999.

This, however, stands out in my memory. I was a software consultant, for a different company, same software, and I was heading toward Dublin, GA. Other than sharing a name with the city in Ireland, and a Beef O'Brady's and O'Charley that was all that was "Irish" about the town. (Sure there were some "pubs", but I think anything that was truly "Irish" had been long ago Americanized.)

So there I was, driving through lower Georgia, lost. I pick up my directions and map (while driving) to attempt to figure out where I was. Figuring out where I was, good. Doing to while still in motion. Bad.

I pass a road sign with no fewer than seven roads on it and I attempt to find it on the map. No sooner do I look up from the map and I see a stop sign whizzing by and a black car screeching to a halt to my left. I slow down and try to slow my heart down to something that won't cause my chest to explode. I check my rearview mirror and I see the flashy blue lights of a police car. I pull over and try to contain my bowels.

A plain clothed officer (the chief of police as it turned out) came up to my car and just absolutely tore me a new one. I had not been dressed down like that since I was a child and I haven't been dressed down like that since. After his spleen was fully vented and color had returned to his face (not sure it had to mine yet) he said that I wasn't getting a ticket. It seems that the chief doesn't make it a practice to carry citations in his car!

With my wits finally returning, I got an idea. I mustered all the chutzpah I could (and I required a lot) and said, "Sir, since I have your attention, I'm trying to get to Dublin. Would you please point me in the right direction?"

To his credit he did point me the right way. Maybe he was just glad to get me out of his jurisdiction, I don't know.

I think I used up two of my nine lives that day.