Cops Hooker French-fries

COPS - HOOKER - FRENCHFRIES

A true story of a southern girl’s culture shock in Southern California.

“Got the babies?” I hollered out at my husband from atop the steps of our soon-to-be ex-apartment. I could see the backseat load shift in the rear window of the car as his backside swayed to match it. “Yes!” he yelled back as he popped his head out. “Annnd...two cats!” he announced proudly to himself, shoving his large balled up fists on his hips staring at his handy work. His cheeks were flushed, and his brow beaded up with sweat in the sticky southern air. We said a bitter-sweet goodbye to our apartment, and to our lives in Texas with one last dance in the empty living room, then hit the road to start our new adventure together in Southern California.

A large bump woke me from the long drive, and as I realized my surroundings, a surge of energy rushed through my body. Sweet California at last! I sang in my head, with that inner monologue tune I often danced to when no one was looking. “Do ya smell that?” I asked my husband with a grin so wide it looked like I slept with a hanger in my mouth for the last part of the drive. “What! Did a cat shit!” he replied suddenly, as a look of panic spread across his face. “NO, gross! I meant the sea air... because we’re here!” I squealed with glee, glancing back at our two sweet fluffy babies behind us, just to make sure; thankfully, they were both clean and fast asleep.

As night fell, we finally reached our new place. “Let’s get the cats out of their carriers and some of this unloaded first, then we can go get something to eat.” I said. He agreed.

We didn’t want to go inside anywhere to eat, so we hit up a local drive-thru, then drove off to find a nice quiet place to enjoy our burgers and fries before heading back.

Parked in an empty parking lot under a light post, we divided up our food order in the car and began to eat. Somewhere amidst the deliciousness of french-fries and our newfound freedom came the surprise of rolling lights behind us. With mouths full of take-out, we sat frozen in disbelief, staring blankly into our rearview mirrors until each of us got our very own flashlights pointed at our faces. Squinting through the brightness to reveal that indeed, they were in fact police officers. Of course, you might think, who else would it be, but giving the thought that we were tired and hungry, and just wanted to eat in peace and solitude, we didn’t imagine we did anything to warrant a special ‘flashlight’ visit from the cops. “Please role down your windows.” said a voice loud and clear and filled with suspicion. Oh, Lord! I thought to myself. With one hand on my french-fries, and the other on the window button, I did as asked. I must admit, what was said next was almost as shocking as being in trouble for the terrible crime of eating in your car and not bothering anyone... “Are you two married?” barked one of the officers. He was looking right at me...answer, I thought to myself, ANSWER! But I couldn’t. The officer just stared down at me, probably wondering why I wouldn’t answer, and I just stared right back. After that painful silence, that really must not have been more than a few seconds before my husband spoke up and answered, felt like FOREVER, but doesn’t everything that your brain is processing in slow motion? What in the world does being married have to do with eating in your car? “What are you doing?” they asked us, leering at us from behind those flashlights, which thankfully they lowered. “We’re just eating.” replied my husband. “Are you married?” now asked the other cop. There it is again! I thought to myself perplexed. “Yes, we ARE married.” my husband sounded back to the cops. And as he and his cop muttered to themselves on the driver's side of the car, possibly on the joys of marriage and take-out dinner, I turned back toward the officer on my side. “Officer, would you like some french-fries?” I said holding up a half-eaten container of fried goodness to the window to maybe pique his interest. Everyone went quiet. Not sure why. Is there a secret power that french-fries hold over some that has yet to be discovered? That would be awesome. Anyway, I just kept holding up those french-fries tall and proud, a sweet innocent smile lingering on my face, and the look of someone who had just been slapped hard on his. “No thank you.” the officer sheepishly replied, his expression softening. “Well, you two just move along then.” said the driver’s side cop, partially, I thought, to relieve mine of having to talk to me anymore.

They left. And as my husband and I pulled ourselves together and drove off, I asked, why did they keep asking us if we were married? “Because” he answered, they thought you were a hooker.” “WHAT!” I blurred out, nearly choking on one of those french-fries that caused all this trouble. “Yup.” he said, a weary smile on his face, grateful all that was over, and so was I truth be told. “Did you seriously ask that cop if he wanted some of your french-fries?” he asked, turning that smile into a smirk. “Sure I did.” I replied in an up-beat tone. “As cranky as they were, I figured they must be pretty peckish, and could use some french-fries.” The End.