Location: Cheshire, Connecticut, United States

devilishly handsome, screamingly funny, overly modest

Wednesday, February 22, 2006

Aunt Fannie, Me, and the Cops

This is another tale with the continuing theme of me doing NOTHING WRONG and ending up in deep trouble. As usual, the Fates have conspired to have me in the right place at the wrong time and nonchalantly lowered the boom--again.

My wife's Aunt Fannie died at age 98, and I was dutifully fulfilling my marital obligation (not THAT obligation,dummy) by driving her to NY for the funeral. First a bunch of people attempted to lift the old lady to sainthood by recounting her good deeds (she had to have SOME in 98 years) and glossing over her dictatorial reign over her children (and my wife) for the first 3/4 of her life. In her later years she doted on her grandchildren and various semi-strangers, possibly in unadmitted atonement. ( I, as one of the few inner circle people willing to point out her bullying tactics, played mainly the role of family outlaw who committed the unforgivable sin of removing my wife to Connecticut, away from this woman's influence). I should point out in fairness here that she was a talented and somewhat ruthless businesswoman, who was successful and wealthy. At the service I restrained myslf from making any negative remarks.( "Liar, liar, pants on fire" doesn't have the right funerial cache) and then it was time to drive to Long Island for the burial.

I dutifully offered a ride to two nice women, my wife's cousin-in-law and an older cousin for whom Barbara had worked in her teens (whose husband, by the way, created the interrobang). I lined up behind the hearse and 3 limosines, several cars pulled in behind me, and off we went. Aside from the car behind me banging into my rear bumper on 96th street, (which I graciously waved off) things proceded peacefully until we reached the Triboro Bridge.

At the toll booth disaster struck. The hearse and limosines drove through in the EZ-Pass lane and I blithely followed, assuming some arrangement had been made for the rest of us to pass through the toll. Bad assumption. I realized this as the (fortunately soft-materialed) gate came crashing down on my windshield. A cop materialized out of nowhere and yelled "Pull over". I did, and the following discussion (?) ensued:

Cop: "Show me your license and registration."
Me:(pointing)" But, officer, I was in that funeral process..."
Cop: "Not my problem, now give me your license and registration."
Me: "But I don't know the way to the..."
Cop: "Again, not my problem. Hand me your license."
Me: "But..."
Cop: "The next words out of your mouth better be yes, sir and those better be the only words I hear from now on"
At this point it registered that my wife's fingernails were tearing a hole in my arm.
Me: "Yes, sir". (I'm not completely stupid).
I should point out that the cop was at the most 21 years old and I doubt if he was shaving yet. I think that if I punched him out like I wanted to, he (and his uniformed friend watching) would have beaten the snot out of me, and my wife would have helped them.
Cop: "I'm not gonna give you a ticket, but you gotta pay me the toll."
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the required 4 singles and two quarters and held them out to him.
Cop: "Those bills are a mess. Flatten them out before you give 'em to me."
I almost lost it, but my wife's nails and the 2 women in the back seat kept me quasi-sane. I paid him and drove off, thereby avoiding being the first person in history to get a ticket while driving in a funeral procession.

For those of you who are concerned, we found the cemetery. The funeral home had given us written directions (a fact which I'd forgotten) in case we got lost. Actually, I raced to the cemetery and somehow beat the procession there. Lucky us, we got to stand out in the cold longer than anybody else.

So, once again, trying to be a nice husband and helpful family member I end up in the soup. If I could just remember to be the rotten SOB that Aunt Fannie thought I was, I'd probably stay out of trouble. I should have dropped my wife off at the funeral and had a few pops at one of the watering holes on 3rd Avenue. Then I would never have been anywhere near that dumb-ass cop.

There is no justice.



Blogger Jake Silver said...

Wow. reminds me vaguely of the recent incident where the Airman back from iraq gotshot by the cops

7:38 PM  
Anonymous bill said...

Hi Papa Bill, I was just blog surfing and found you! Wow, I really like this one.
It’s such a pleasure to read your post …. Interesting! I was over at another site

looking at bill

and they didn't go into as much detail as you, but nonetheless interesting.

9:35 AM  

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