The Utah County Menace

Forward: The following is a true story. It happened well over a year ago and has been told with varying amounts of indignation and frustration. The following account was taken more or less directly from an email version of the story. The original email version was rated R for language; this version is rated G so you can share it with the kids. Of course, it still contains words like ‘asshole,’ ‘douchebag’ and ‘dickless’ but if your kids can’t handle those words, then they have much bigger problems than anything they’ll hear from me. For those who want to hear the story now, much like this mornings request that resulted in this blog post, this version will henceforth be the official one. Names have been changed because I never knew what the hell they were in the first place. On to the story….

The Utah County Menace:

A Tale in One Act.

For those unaware,  my ass takes the bus to work every day. What may be less well known and appreciated is the fact that my ass walks my ass to the bus stop everyday. No driving for me; I can take it! 20 degree weather, winter blizzards, cat 5 hurricanes, mosquitoes or rocks in the shoe – whatever onslaughts nature may hurl at me, you will still find my ass faithfully walking my ass to the bus stop. True, it’s only like half a mile, but I’m not claiming to be Lance Armstrong or anything.  I have been doing all of this for six years.

On my person during this commute: a backpack containing reading material, an iPod and a lunch of some kind. (It’s worth noting, perhaps even relevant, to mention that said backpack is also liberally decorated with buttons applauding tree-huggery, numerous Obama ’08 buttons and other forms of liberal paraphernalia. Also I’m perfectly aware Obama has already won the election, thereby making the campaign buttons more or less irrelevant. Remember, though, this occurred well over a year ago. Of course, to be fair, the buttons are still there. See, I’ve long since accepted the fact that I am one of those ideological douchebags who never shut up. Keeping campaign material around long after an election is one of the many symptoms of that behavior.) And, of course, with me as always, my constant companion, my dear best friend: my coffee mug. Oh yes, my mug: a beautiful, sleek metallic blue mug with a spill proof lid and the ability to keep coffee warm forever. He’s wonderful, my mug. A true Pal and Confidant that, for the purposes of this story, we will call Phil.

So last July, Phil and I are making the walk to the bus stop; it was a beautiful summer morning. Cool and crisp, nothing beats a fine Utah morning. “Why, isn’t it just lovely outside?” I ask Phil, all happy and crap. He agrees. We make it to the stop without incident, early in fact, with several minutes to spare. As we stand patiently at the stop, Phil and I see a police car approach us on the road. “What’s up” I say to Phil? “I don’t know” says he, “enjoy some hot delicious coffee, why don’t you.” I do. I thank him for the advice. “Thanks for the advice, Phil. The coffee is delightful.”

Imagine, then, our surprise when said police car pulls up along side of us. A very ugly police officer gets out and, for some asshole reason, he has his hand on his gun. He approaches us slowly.

“Hello,” I say, because I’m just friendly that way!

“What’s going on?” says Officer Ugly, now standing next to me.

“Waiting for the bus,” says I.

“We got a call that you were brandishing a weapon of some kind, possibly a firearm or a radar gun,” says Officer Ass, eyeing me suspiciously.

I, relieved at the obvious error, triumphantly hold up Phil and laugh. “Look anything like this?” I say. And I fully expect it to end here. I’m waiting for a bus and I am dangling a coffee mug by its handle which, I guess could be mistaken for a weapon, especially if you’re a complete and total moron, which we can only assume the caller was. No problems.

“I doubt it sir,” says Assugly without any humor “What time does this bus come?”

“6:22,” I say, getting worried that I’ll be held up and miss it.

“Do you have any ID?” Only this question didn’t come from Officer Dicksington. It came from someone standing directly behind me, and scared the shit out of me, I don’t mind saying. I turn around to find another officer standing right behind me, you know, in case I’m going to run for it. We coffee drinkers are known for our agility, see. I am now surrounded by two officers and their cars.

“But the only thing I’ve got is this coffee mug,” I say. Phil nods in agreement, seconding my story.

“Let me just see your ID.”

I give it to him. While he’s writing down my name, address and asking me for my phone number, I am thinking that this is getting slightly ridiculous. When he starts asking questions – where I’m coming from, where I am going – I am thinking that this has gone far enough. But the absurdity only grows! Officer von Assward the Douche says he’s going to pat me down. He frisks me! Checks my pockets! Maybe would’ve gone on to a full body cavity search if not for the fact that people I ride the bus with have started to show up! “What’s going on?” says one of them. “Evidently, it is now illegal to drink coffee in Utah County,” I say with a pissy smile. Our officer friends remain humorless. (For our out of state friends, Utah County is predominantly Mormon: not a coffee loving demographic.)

“Can we check the inside of your bag?” one of them says.  Several other commuters have, by this time, arrived.

“Are you serious?” I say.

“Let’s just take a look in your bag.” Says Officer GenitalScab, impatiently. I open it and he and Officer Nutsack look inside. There they find my dangerous book! (A David Sedaris, I think.) They find my dangerous sandwich! (Ham).

“What’s really going on?” says the fellow commuter again. So I make a final attempt to mitigate the obvious awkwardness and embarrassment of the situation by making a satirical observation: “What you’re witnessing,” I say, “is racial profiling. As a Utah County Minority – a person that drinks coffee and wears Obama Buttons – I’m obviously up to no good!”

No one laughs. My fellow travelers seem concerned. Finally, I tell them the truth. I confess my crime to them, God, Humanity and the World: “Someone thought my coffee mug was a weapon. I was just holding this coffee mug.”

Perhaps by hearing it articulated thusly, Officer Sarah and Officer Palin realize what it is they’re doing. Perhaps, somewhere in the recesses of their small minds they have figured it out. They realize that there will be no front page story applauding their genius because, after only two weeks since they first learned to read, they have managed to stop a dangerous criminal from his life of crime. Perhaps they see, through their ugly and unremarkable little eyes, that this was an obvious mistake and yet, because of the difficulty the stupid have in figuring things out, they have still managed to inconvenience me, embarrass me and subject me to an interrogation that should never have happened. They are looking at my ham freaking sandwich for the love of Clarence! They offer a half-assed bumbling apology and leave the crime scene, with my name, address and phone number written in their notebook, just as the bus pulls up…

I’ve made the same walk, with Phil and Obama at my side, every work day since then. There have been no additional problems despite the fact that I fragrantly drink the dangerous and provocative coffee, right there in public! Occasionally I’ll wrap my finger around Phil’s handle as he dangles at my side in an attempt to make it look like I am carrying a gun. But then the street light casts my shadow in front of me and I see myself for what I truly am: a guy carrying coffee. Still, to all those rightfully afraid, be warned: I am on the loose…