Chattanooga Pulse

The fake pumpkins were taken down and replaced with larger-than-life pastel-colored ornaments, and the imitation spider webs were swapped for fake wreaths and garlands, and “70% Off Halloween Items” were exchanged for “25% Off Holiday Items”.  Corporate America had completely bypassed Thanksgiving due to its low retail value, and didn’t even have the decency to refer to Christmas as anything other than “The Holidays”, but it was still the same season to me, and I hated every aspect of it outside of my home.  If Thanksgiving were to have had even a slightly marketable face, I’m sure it would spit on the ground, too.

I hated the people who broke into cars on the parking lots of malls and stores everywhere to steal their well-intended contents, and I hated the people who had parked their cars with a $250 dollar Garmin on the dash and a shopping bag and purse in plain view below it in the first place.  I hated that thieves would prey upon a holiday of giving, and I hated that victims would act baffled and shocked that anyone would take advantage of the opportunity they presented to said criminals.  I hated the crooks’ boldness and I hated the victims’ naiveté, but I of course approached both in person with a gracious smile and professional demeanor; after all, as all my Adoring Readers know, professionalism is my trademark.  A standard excerpt for your pleasure:

Victim:  “I just can’t understand it!  I was only in the store for 15 minutes; how could this have happened?!’

Ofc. Teach:  “It only takes about 20 seconds to break the glass, then snatch the items and run, sir.  I’m sorry, I know how frustrating this must be.”

Victim:  “You’re damn right it’s frustrating!  I can’t believe it!  There are cameras here!  Why wasn’t someone watching the cameras?!”

Ofc. Teach:  “I’m sure someone was watching the cameras, but again, in 20 seconds, there’s not a lot store security can do.  Cameras deter some, but don’t prevent all.”  (Cameras indeed show what is a man or perhaps a woman, five feet to six feet tall of unknown race in dark clothing smashing and grabbing items and fleeing on foot south, thus narrowing the suspect pool to roughly 250,000 locally.  CSI: Chattanooga has a tough row to hoe on this one. )

Victim:  “Well, then where were you?!  I pay taxes for you to watch this place, this is outrageous!  Can’t you check the glass for prints or something?!”

Ofc. Teach pauses, then says:  “I was actually across the street taking another report where someone else left their packages on the car seat.  I’m afraid shattered glass leaves no real prints to lift, either.  Let’s go ahead and itemize the losses, shall we?”  While taking copious notes, another call comes out on the same lot.  Burglary of another auto, of course.  (If rolling of eyes had a sound, I would deafen the world.)

My generous pay was dedicated to luxuries like “electricity” and “cable television”, so my own Christmas gifts were often derived from side jobs such as visible store security and traffic direction.  And the only thing I hate more than store security and registered Democrats is (brace yourself) traffic direction.

The contempt for careless and selfish drivers mates with the fear of being struck by a car every eight to 12 seconds, and born from that is an anxiety that a metric ton of Prilosec (God bless it) and Thorazine couldn’t put a dent in.

Cars are not only more insulated from outside noises (such as police whistles and other car horns) than ever before, their drivers are more distracted by technology and high-end sound systems than ever and the sight of a “STOP” sign is more of a suggestion than a rule these days.

I usually work straight through until someone rolls past their stop sign through an intersection I’m regulating, unaware of my presented palms and piercing whistle because they are busy texting the person in the back seat, and I am forced to open-hand slap the hood and roof of their car as I side-step them on their way into oblivion, stopping all directions of traffic while I bellow at them in lawful fury.  I take five, and head back in until I have to repeat this.

Yes.  I hate “The Holidays”, but as you remind me from time to time, don’t judge too quickly…because I LOVE “Christmas”.  There is a difference, you see.
One of them has Rules.

(Happy “Whatever Doesn’t Offend You”, folks.)