Burning Daylight

The northern hemisphere marching in its annual dive downward towards winter’s solstice, with its long nights of darkness, took a break this week and blessed Saint Louis with a full week of Indian Summer.  I got out on my bicycle just once this week and rode in the Park.  I got 15 miles.  At this time of year every hour of sunshine that can be enjoyed outside, should be treasured.

On Friday, I had two encounters with the law.  The first one occurred in the morning, on the way into work.  I had parked on Wydown, for my morning Starbucks ritual.  I didn’t even have to parallel park, because there were four parking places in a row.  There was a police car there, but I paid it no attention, there are frequently police cars parked there, cops drink coffee too.  An officer appeared at my passenger window before I could open my driver side door.  He was seemingly having trouble hearing my questions, so he asked me if he could open the door.  I said yes, he opened the door and explained that Clayton had instituted street cleaning on even-numbered Fridays, but not before he scoped out the interior of my vehicle.  I pulled out and parked on the other side of the block.  Exiting Starbucks, I noticed tickets on the windshields of two less fortunate cars.  I also noticed that the street cleaning sign was visibly new.

My second encounter occurred on the way home from work.  I was in the grocery store, leaning over the self-serve food bar, spooning pasta into a plastic container.  A woman’s voice spoke into my ear, “I’m leaning over you to get a sample of that pasta.”  There was something practiced in that voice that alerted me, such that I wasn’t too surprised to see a Brentwood officer standing beside me.  She didn’t like it, while I had already committed to buying the pasta, so there was little in the way of further conversation.

My first law encounter, left me feeling good about law officers.  The Clayton officer had taken the time to speak with me rather than just issuing another parking ticket.  The second encounter in Brentwood left me wondering.  The Brentwood officer appeared out of nowhere and disappeared almost as fast.  I’m left with the question in my mind, was she just sniffing about?  I was left with a less favorable opinion about her.  Anne and I both liked the pasta that she didn’t.  There is no accounting for some people’s maners or taste.

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