I am in a Starbucks near my house, doing some writing. Not late evening, but not early evening either.
I just finished writing a paragraph that I really liked.
I am not sure when it happened, but when I looked up, and everyone in Starbucks was armed.
What the hell?
There are ten people here, take away me and the two coffee maids behind the counter and there are 3 customs agents, 1 sheriff, 2 local policemen and 1 airport cop.
I believe I am now involved in a stake out.
As I look closely, automatics seem to be the weapon of choice for the discerning enforcement officer out on the town.
And, it seems that only the customs agents are not wearing kevlar vests. If its important enough to wear a sidearm, I want a vest, too.
But, I don’t get one. In this little episode of “Star Trek” I am that ensign you’ve never seen before this episode, and Captain Kirk just asked me to take a look behind that boulder over there.
Which means I die horribly, and all I get is an acting credit and union scale.
Now, if I was the only one in Starbucks armed with a phaser, that would be something else entirely.
I notice the general conditioning of everyone.
The customs agents are a little chunky, really chatty and generally seem like the cosmetics counter at Macy’s taking a coffee brake.
Next in the physical build line up in the airpot cop. His shape is kind of a oddity. I can’t figure out if he is short and fat or short and just built like a fire plug. Given that he order two, count them two, cheese danishes, I am putting my money on fat.
The two local cops are fit, serious and obviously take their jobs serious. Authoritarian yet approachable, just as they should be.
The sherrif is just frightening. He is huge, has spent some long hours at the gym and the firing range, from the look of his side arm. It is not standard issue and costs a small fortune. This is obviously not a job for him, it is his calling and he treats it so. Good. They always say you should have the wolves guard the sheep. This wolf is a barely restrained bad-ass.
I have a weird thing about the government and cops. By luck of the draw, the way I live my life breaks no laws. Consequently, I do not fear the police.
Its like the TSA searches. I like the idea that every little plastic box-cutter someone could have taped behind their testicles has been removed.
And why is that box cutter taped behind his testies? I don’t ask, I don’t tell.
Don’t taze me, bro.