March 13, 2007

• (Stoopid) Father of the Year Award.

   

  This past weekend I decided to take a road trip to Davis, CA (of all places) in order to increase The Franksabunch’s™ domain (animal planet style, minus the urinating to mark my territory for fear of being arrested for impersonating a drunk frat boy or a drunk Courtney Love).  It’s a nice little college town, but little did I know what was in store for me that fateful day.

   

  So I’m walking through the streets of Davis with a gangsta lean when my feral senses—sharpened by years of avoiding the rabid nurses at work looking for someone to order constipation meds at 3 AM—detected that something was rotten in Denmark…

   

  To my right I noticed a cop standing on the sidewalk speaking into his shoulder walkie-talkie thang.  That’s all fine and dandy to see the Po-Po hanging around, even in a peaceful town like Davis where the only violence that occurs happens when the Asian college kids fight over the last plastic cup of Crown Royal, but why was he standing in front of an optometrist’s office looking intently at everyone passing by?  Even me?  (I know I look, roll and regulate like a thug but…jigga please, do you think I’d try to jack someone Chow Yun-Fat style one time for your mind while wearing my shirt that I bought on sale for $12?)  I then looked ahead and saw a Five-O with a shotgun hiding behind a tree facing the bank across the street, next to the optometrist’s office.

   

  

  He's hiding his shotgun like how all the engineers in Silicon Valley hide their secret Myspace pages they use to stalk Man Jose wahines.

   

  I walked a short distance further and saw that around the other corner of the bank was another Po-Po, except this one was smarter and upgraded to a semiautomatic rifle.

   

  

  Uh-oh, I hate doggie poo.

   

   

  Where you at, sucka?                                        

   

  My first thought was to look for a movie camera and Grace Park making a cameo (hey, a man has to dream) but a distant 0.37 nanoseconds later my second thought was to get the heezy out of dodge faster than most married men every 4^th week of the month (if you don’t get the reference, go look at what’s at the end of this sentence).  But, alas, it seems that even my life-saving super powers must be used on my days off also, because…

   

  Sitting 15 feet away from the shotgun Five-O and right across the street from the bank’s entrance was a man and his 3 kids, all sitting in a row for target practice.  I asked him if he saw the police and knew what was going on and he mentioned that he saw las policias con muchos guns and just wanted to see what was going to happen.  I was tempted to ask him if he knew who Darwin was and his theory of evolution, but decided to be nice about it and politely suggested that he should move his kids to safer ground…like, say, Palo Alto.  After an imaginary flickering 10-watt bulb appeared over his head, he said, “oh yeah, that’s probably a good idea,” and then proceeded to move his kids…another 15 feet away, still across the entrance of the bank.

  

  This is after he moved them to "safety."  But at least they're in matching clothes, no?  (If you're wondering where I was, I was hiding behind a pillar at the motel behind these guys.)

   

  Ai-ya.  Some people just don’t get it.

   

  So instead of running away for cover in the nearest fast food restaurant with a 99-cent menu, I stuck around.  Hecka, man, I’m not a pediatrician.  Kids scare me more than white women asking me out on a date.  I have no idea how to treat kids, but at least I can carry them out of harm’s way or apply pressure to any wounds in case someone comes out of the bank bustin’ caps in the air like it was a Fitty Cent concert.  Lord knows this guy probably wouldn’t know what to do since he was dumb enough to put his kids in harm’s way like that.

   

  Luckily, whatever situation was going on in the bank resolved 10 minutes later.  One of the workers came out of the bank, the cop with the walkie-talkie went in, and the 2 other Po-Po’s put their shotgun and rifle away in their cars, and with the kids now safe I went off in search of food.

   

  

  Now that's a MAN'S shotgun!

  

  Mere coincidence?  The parking ticket man arrived right when the bank situation resolved...I guess parking tickets are a stronger deterrent than prison!

   

  On most days I like being a healthcare superhero, but that day I was happy and content to be able to tuck those super powers away into my back pocket and walk away like any other person rolling down the street with a gansta lean in search of a fast food restaurant with a 99-cent menu.

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  Have a great week!

  • 9:56 am
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