September 07, 2006

Legwarmers calls the Five Oh on BIGPMPN

Today, I called the police.

I was cruising home from work, stuck in traffic, passing time per the usual. My typical bored-in-traffic routine is as follows:

1. Initially, be irritated (as if I shouldn't expect the rush-hour madness). Look at the drivers around me, hoping to connect and commisserate with them.
2. Get bored with this, until I realize this is a prim-o opportunity to have some fun at the expense of those around me, at which point I do any or all of the following:

- Stare at an uncomfortable, nerdy male driver and gesture for him to call me or signal like he has something on his face
- Turn up the cheesy pop-rap local radio station, roll down the windows, and lip-synch to Lil Weezy while throwing up gang signs and pounding my chest
- Turn up the other cheesy radio station, and really sing to a Celine Dion love ballad, while everyone else stares...

...and so on.

Well, today, while looking around for other drivers with whom to interact, I spotted a red convertible Porsche shortly ahead of me, driven by a youngish male with a white hat on. As I approached, and once we were nearly parallel in neighboring lanes, I looked over again, curious as to what kind of 20-something is driving a Porsche.

Well, this guy was clearly a douchebag: white cocked hat, white baggy pants, white too-big-t-shirt, with mirrored sunglasses and rapist-facial hair, and most importantly, he was drinking a Budweiser while driving the car on the freeway in rush hour traffic like nobody would notice.

I could not believe the gargantuan balls this guy had to have to drink and drive with the top down on a sunny day like the law didn't apply to him.

Suddenly furious, more at his utter disregard for the rules the rest of us were following, regardless of our collective desire to also enjoy a frosty beverage, I picked up the Blackberry and dialed.

That's right, I narked on his big-pimpin-punk-ass.

Police Dispatcher: Washington State Patrol, is this an emergency?
Me: Well, it's only an emergency if this asshole is sexually active. Then it's an emergency, because our gene pool is at serious risk of increased fatal idiocy and arrogance.
PD: So this is not an emergency, maam?
Me: I guess not.
PD: How can I help you today?
Me: There's a Kevin Federline lookalike in a red convertible Porsche on 405 headed South at the Kirkland exit who I would like to complain about.
PD: Do you have a licenseplate number, maam?
Me: Oh, yeah, let me slow down. Hold on just a secon--
::bursts into incredulous laughter::
PD: Maam? Is everything alright? Do you have a licenseplate?
Me, calming down: Yeah, yes. It is, uh... BIGPMPN. That's BIGPMPN. Like "big pimping". Did you get that?
PD: Yes, maam. Big Pimping. BIGPMPN. Yes.
Me: Wow. I can't believe that. Anyway, the guy is -- well -- he's drinking a beer in his car.
PD: Uh huh. Kevin Federline... drinking beer. Got it...
Me: No, I mean, he's drinking a beer, like out in the open, while driving on the freeway, like he doesn't even care. I mean, it's a Budweiser. Not even Bud Light.
PD: Okay, maam, slow down...
Me: ...and I can read the label because he keeps waving it around, and I feel we are all in danger on the road with this guy!
PD: Okay, what is your name, please?
Me: HE JUST OPENED ANOTHER BEER! He finished the first one--well I guess it could have been his second or eleventh--and just threw the empty in the backseat and cracked open another! I can't believe this! Are you going to arrest him? I hope you arrest him! How soon are you going to arrest him?
PD: We'll send someone out to check it out if they have time, maam. But we can't do that until we get your name. What is your name? And phone number?


Really this story is anticlimatic, as I exited the freeway shortly after I made the call and never got to see the jerkoff arrested. But I did call the police (and not even accidentally from my pocket this time). Which was sorta exciting.


Oh, I give up. But have a good weekend, if I continue to suck at writing until then (quite likely). And remember: I'm a nark. A pissed-off, K-Fed hating nark. Watch out for me.


ShadowAngel said...

Oooh, you are so nasty! LOL

Two summers ago I called in on someone zipping around in my quiet little residential neighborhood (like 55-60 in a 30), and my little, little kids were in the front yard playing when he whipped by.

But I'm an idiot, and I accidentally called the City of Tonawanda police instead of the Town of Tonawanda (where I live) police. Duh. Never mind, I guess...

jali said...

I'm glad you called. You probably saved somebody's life - or at the least you saved some chick from his attentions that day.

I get happy when the cops catch single drivers in the HOV lanes - I really get happy. I hate that big pimpin' attitude that the rules aren't for them... just for the lames of the world.

Chuckles said...

One of my bros and I called the cops on a guy with lamely spiked hair in a big double-rear-tire truck that tried to run us over. We had his plates and everything. They said that they would issue a citation and took our information in case he tried to fight it. Baltimore is a hell of a town. No, Baltimore is a hell-hole of a town.

~Macarena~ said...

Anti-Federline victory.