To Protect and to Serve... more like Hassle and Annoy

Kids, before I get started, let me lay some ground work.

Those of you that are loyal readers are aware that I don't delve into the profanities of the English language in my writings too often. However, I must warn you that this rant, monologue or soliloquy or whatever the F you want to call it is going to be peppered with expletives. Having said that, off we go.

When I'm not a world class vocalist (as many of you who bought the album know), I do have a real job. I love my real job. I work with a wonderful group, and I get to meet a lot of interesting people that I would typically not run into. Today, I worked with my boss and got done circa 3:45PM. After a couple more stops, the Rychkid is done for the day, and heads to his luxury two bedroom apartment in the heart of Park Avenue, Rochester, NY. This puts us in the timeframe of 4:30ish, Eastern Standard Time. As my lovely dwelling complex does not have off-street parking, it is mandatory to move your vehicle from one side of the street to the other. Those of you that feel my pain know it as alternate parking... one of the few nightmares of living in the artsy-fartsy cultural area of Park Avenue. Needless to say, parking is at a premium. Having said that; typically when I end my day somewhere around 5, I do honor the mandatory alternate parking, and park on the appropriate side for that evening. Again, this is at 4:30PM. Pretty much everyone in this area that doesn't have the blessing of off-street parking does the same thing: when you get home at 5/5:30, you park on the correct side. This has never been a problem... until today, May 18, 2005.

Ok... so I park my minivan. No, that's not a misprint. I drive a minivan. OK? Let's move on. I park my minivan and head into my luxury two bedroom suite, complete with Ramen noodles, sweet pickles, stale popcorn, ketchup and empty cans of Diet Vanilla Pepsi that currently reside in my meager kitchen. I grab a water, a bag of Tostitos (the kind with the "hint of lime") and head to the couch. I catch the tail end of Maury, who's got a great paternity test show going on... should've TIVO'd that one.

Now I know that I have a softball game at 8:30, under the lights, and I'm still exhausted from the Vegas excursion. Taking all this into consideration, I realize that it is in my best interest to attempt a nap.

So now I've set the stage; parked the minivan (yes, again, I said minivan), got a nutritious snack, and parked my ass on the couch. I do succeed in my endeavor to take a nap, and wake up at 7:30 to the sound of my phone ringing. It's Chopper... apparently I have some of his clothes in my luggage from the Vegas trip, and he has the $100 he owes me. Perfect... I'm awake and rested in time for the game, and I'm going to get some money from Chop. Outstanding, and all is right with the world.

Now the annoyance and hassle begins. I get changed for softball, screw a Marlboro Light into my lips, and head downstairs. When I walked out the front door, I could not believe my eyes. I had a ticket on my minivan. Once again, yes, I said minivan. I look at the time that is written on it, and it's 4:46PM.

Those of you who are going to be offended by expletives should stop reading here. Those of you who don't give a fuck, read on.

This next statement may be a generality, an over-statement, and I may even be painting with a really wide brush here, but I must say it. If you are reading this, and you are a Rochester cop, you are an asshole. If you are reading this and you are not a Rochester cop, you should be made aware that cops in Rochester, NY are assholes. This statement is not going to go unfounded, and the goal for the rest of this post is to prove, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that this statement is, in fact, true.

In the Park Ave. area of Rochester, parking is at a premium. The asshole that wrote this ticket, as I'm sure it's not his first time through here, nor is it his first day of being an asshole, knows this. Let me pose this question to any and all of my loyal readers. Who, other than an asshole, knowing what I have just said, would, in fact, penalize me for it? Your answer? No one. Logic says; this person is an asshole.

Now, I do have an education from one of the finest correspondence schools in New York State. Logic also says that this does not necessarily mean that all Rochester cops are assholes. Logic would say;

This person is a cop.
This person is an asshole.
-------------------------
All cops are not necessarily assholes.

Ladies and gentlemen, until I meet one that is not, I have no other choice but to assume this conclusion that I have drawn on my own through years of clinical research and experience. And that conclusion is that all Rochester cops are assholes. I will pose this question, and open it for comments, and I will also honor and respect your response... unless of course you are a Rochester cop, in which case you are probably an asshole and your opinion shouldn't count anyway. My question is this:

Have you ever met someone that you thought was an asshole, and then found out later that he was a cop? And then when you found out he was a cop, did you say to yourself or anyone else, "that figures."? Better yet, have you ever met a cop, Rochester or otherwise, that was not an asshole? I haven't, and I will be amazed, going forward, if I do. Maybe that's a little too general, and I apologize. Strike that.

Friends and neighbors, I want you to step back in time with me for a moment. Indulge me if you will. It won't take long, I promise.

Go back with me to your high school days. Back to the days of mullets, rat tails, parachute pants and Camaros. A glorious time. A time of chicks with big hair and leg warmers. A time of Poison, Ratt, Styx and Bon Jovi. A time when I had hair that was spiked up and looked like that dude from A Flock of Seagulls, and I had more of it. A simpler time. A more peaceful time. A time of Ron Reagan's Star Wars Program, and the country was still riding that crest of a wave of when the 1980 USA Hockey Team beat the Soviets and took home the gold on a frozen pond in a little barn in Lake Placid, NY. By the way, they actually beat Finland for the gold... rent "Miracle" if you haven't seen it. The country was riding that wave. If you look up into the mountains outside of Las Vegas, you can almost make out where the wave finally broke, and eased back to low water mark.

Now that I have you in that frame of mind, I want you to think about that guy. You know the one I'm talking about. That guy that wasn't quite in the "in" crowd. The guy that would show up to parties with some girl from another school you'd never heard of, and hang out in the corner and talk to her about how much he maxed on the bench that day. The guy that would wear really tight t-shirts and tapered jeans with work boots. The guy that carries a 225 bowling average. The guy that would talk about government conspiracy theories and swear that every teacher was flunking him because he could do more curls in gym class. The guy that would hold a high ranking government office had the Nazis won the war. You can usually identify this guy by his mode of dress, or by his buzz cut hair style. Remember that guy? Got that mental picture? That's the guy I'm talking about.

This guy went on to become one of two things, and they're both pretty much in the same vein. They're either a cop or a bouncer in a titty bar. These are the guys that go home every night, watch "Roadhouse," and jerk off to it. They have an autographed picture of Patrick Swayze somewhere in their home, and they talk about how much they wish that the coach would have put them in during the final minutes of the fourth quarter... then they would've won State.

That's my take on cops. Feel free to comment on this, and quite honestly, I'll be amazed if I get any negative feedback on this.

Well, friends... have I proven my point? I don't know, but it's late and the Rychkid has to be in Buffalo at 8:30 tomorrow morning.

Whether I proved anything or nothing here tonight, I stand by my statement. If you're not sure what that statement is, go into your basement, get a tack hammer and smack yourself in the head. Repeat as needed.

I'm out... gotta get some sleep and figure out my defense for this parking ticket. Think I'll plead insanity.

Until next time...

R