So I'm walking to the grocery store yesterday when I had a racially perplexing moment. While pushing my daughter's stroller across the street, a Camry pulled up to the two-way stop sign and then slowly proceeded to block the crosswalk and ramp. The driver was an older Middle Eastern woman who clearly wasn't paying attention to us. I couldn't tell if she was trying to position herself to back into a parking space or trying to get a better view so that she could speed across the busy six-lane street. Since I didn't know what her plans were I couldn't decide whether or not to go in front or behind her car.
On the other side of the street I see this old White guy on the corner and he starts yelling at her. Move the goddamn car back! I thought he was mad because she was blocking him from crossing, but she was actually his ride and he was telling her (in a really evil, "I used to be a wife beater" way) that she was blocking our way. I crossed in front of her car and kept on walking and as he's opening the car door to get in I catch a part of their conversation.
Her: What did you say?
Him: I said move the goddamn car back!
Her: I was waiting for you to get in.
Him: You were in the middle of the fucking crosswalk.
Her: So?
Him: You were blocking people's way.
Now at this point I'm like, Well that was nice of him to point that out to her. I don't think he had to curse her out like that, but whatever.
Then I hear the next part...
Her: What people?
Him: You didn't see that nigger right there trying to cross the street?
My brain: Wait a minute...what just happened?
There are so many things wrong with that conversation, but what stands out to me is that this old White guy got in a car with a Middle Eastern woman who I think was his wife. He scolded her for being inconsiderate and blocking my way. Then he referred to me as a nigger. Is this like a racist brain teaser or something? My brain couldn't come up with a suitable response other than to just keep walking. I'm certain of what he said, I just don't understand what he said.
Saturday, February 11, 2012
Friday, February 10, 2012
Flashback Friday: The Land of Make Believe
What do these three things have in common:
[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="187" caption="Not this oneYeah the one that was so badass they called themselves "THE REAL" Ghostbusters"]
[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="187" caption="Not this oneYeah the one that was so badass they called themselves "THE REAL" Ghostbusters"]
Wait for it....
I only knew one little kid who actually had a real He-Man sword. Everybody else just grabbed a broom handle, umbrella or yardstick, put the joint down the back of your shirt and then waited for that scene in the show. Uh oh, some shit's 'bout to go down. C'mon Adam, show em what you about! You stand up on top of the bed or couch and then pull the sword out your back and yell
BY THE POWER OF GREYSKULL, I HAVE THE POWEEEER!
Then your mama comes outta nowhere and yells back
Stop jumping on my goddamned couch!
My imagination was great as a kid. My favorite show was Ghostbusters.
[/caption]
I wanted a proton pack so bad but I didn't think they made them and my parents seemed to live by the unwritten rule of "If the kid doesn't know the toy exists then don't tell him." Since I didn't know they existed in real life, I applied the He-Man broomstick factor and made my own.
I took an umbrella, my backpack, an old phone cord and a Happy Meal box and made myself a proton pack. No pictures of this fine example of childish determination exists so let me describe it to you. I tied one end of the phone cord to the umbrella, ran it through the straps of my backpack and then took the other end of the phone cord and tied it to the handle of the happy meal box. I then folded the Happy Meal box up into a neat little square and put it in my pocket along with the excess phone cord. The umbrella was one of those old cheap black "automatic" umbrellas with a hook on it so I just hooked it onto the little loop on the top of my backpack.
I am now a Ghostbuster. My porch is our fire station. What Janine, we have a call? Let me jump down the porch steps because in my head that is the equivalent of sliding down the fire station pole. The ghosts will be expecting me in Ecto-1 (the car) or Ecto-2 (the helicopter) so I'm going to surprise them and show up in Ecto-3 (my big wheel).
I have now arrived at the tree near the alley. Lucky for me the ghost is by this tree because this is as far as my grandmother will let me go down the street. Let me recite the famous Ghostbuster mantra as seen in the movie:
Grab your stick. Holdin it! (pulls umbrella off backpack)
Heat em up! Smokin! (Grasps umbrella lookin serious)
Aiming pod! Ready! (Getting in my stance)
Let's show this prehistoric "B" how we do things downtown. (Pushes button on umbrella to make it extend and pretends to be shooting a hard to control proton pack while making a constipated face and rocking left to right.)
It is now time to put the ghost in the trap. I shall reach into my pocket, pull out the trap (Happy Meal Box) and throw it under the ghost. (The Happy Meal box slightly unfolds on the ground which is close enough to the trap opening.) I then pretend to shield my eyes as the trap closes (Box never refolds) and then pick it up and walk back to my big wheel with pride singing the Ghostbuster theme song.
After being repeatedly embarrassed at the sight of me doing this, my father bought me the actual proton pack toy for my 6th birthday. I never saw the backpack version again.
[caption id="attachment_1756" align="alignnone" width="400" caption="I aint afraid of no ghost."][/caption]
Thursday, February 9, 2012
I'm Going Down
One day I'll sire a son and when he's old enough he'll come to me and ask about women. What makes them tick? How do you impress one of them. I'll tell him this story.
Many years ago I went to an amusement park with a bunch of friends from school. Like most guys, I didn't have my heart set on a particular girl. Any one of the cute ones would have done. I was ready to be brave when it came time for the roller coaster and herculean when it came time to win a prize, and I was especially ready to be a typical man and enjoy their water park attire. What I was not prepared for was to be asked to get in the water myself.
It's been documented several times that I don't mess with water. In my eyes a wave pool carries the same destructive potential as Hurricane Katrina, but when you're a man you make stupid decisions whenever women are involved. On this particular occasion three of the finest of the fine wanted to get on a water slide.
Note: I still suffer from some of the trauma of this experience so I may be slightly off in my description of the slide.
It was a massive beast that ascended the heavens one hundred stories into the air. You had to walk up a staircase of broken glass to get to it and you went through a series of turns at breakneck speed which culminated with a free fall of about 25 feet into an alligator-filled lagoon.
Okay I'm lying. There were no alligators. So anyway, we went up and the whole time I'm writing out my will in my head. I eyed that the red slide in the corner seemed to be the slowest and safest one of the four so when it came time I'd just go down that one. Naturally we get to the top and one of these heifers gets scared and asks if we can switch. Being stupid I said, duh okay.
It started off fine. Nice and slow ride. Not bad for my first time on a slide. I kept my feet crossed and head back. Things were going well. It was one of those enclosed slides that looks more like a giant pipe. Well inside this pipe there were places along the way where streams of water would pour down from the top. I went under one such stream. Maybe that's normal, but for someone who has never been on a damn slide before it felt like I was being waterboarded. I instinctively sat up but the pipe wasn't made to be sat up in so I hit my damn head on the top of it. Then came another stream of waterboarding.
I'm choking, chlorinated water is in my eyes so I can't see and I'm disoriented from banging my head. Al Qaeda was winning. My vision finally clears in time for me to see this bright ass light. The noonday sun! Apparently I'd reached the end of the interrogation tunnel, and was now blinded from looking directly up at the sun after being in a dark place. I tried to look down at my feet to get an idea of how close I was to the end of the slide. I was partially blind and concussed by this point so all I could make out was something blue.
Is that water?
That's when the slide disappeared from underneath me and I was flung into a free fall into the pool of water below. Son of a (choking on water)! I start kicking and trying to get to the surface. It isn't working. I'm trying to float on my back, but I keep going under. I'm trying to right myself, but I'm still hazy from the tunnel of love. I see a lifeguard in my view. Help! I can't swim! I see her rushing over but not jumping in. Help goddammit! She's yelling out to me but I can't hear her b/c I'm under water. I'm ready to give up and drown but I start thinking about to the heifer that got me in this situation. I can't die without cursing her out first. Help! And that's when I finally piece together what the lifeguard was saying.
Stand up.
That's an odd thing to say to someone drowning.
The water isn't deep. Stand up.
What the hell is she talking about? Wait is that the ground? I stop fighting and realize that my butt is touching the bottom of the pool. I stand up and the water is at my knees. I look over and see the two girls staring at me like I'm special.
So son, the moral of this story is be yourself. Don't try to impress women, because you'll always fail at it. Oh, and find a woman who can't swim.
Many years ago I went to an amusement park with a bunch of friends from school. Like most guys, I didn't have my heart set on a particular girl. Any one of the cute ones would have done. I was ready to be brave when it came time for the roller coaster and herculean when it came time to win a prize, and I was especially ready to be a typical man and enjoy their water park attire. What I was not prepared for was to be asked to get in the water myself.
It's been documented several times that I don't mess with water. In my eyes a wave pool carries the same destructive potential as Hurricane Katrina, but when you're a man you make stupid decisions whenever women are involved. On this particular occasion three of the finest of the fine wanted to get on a water slide.
Note: I still suffer from some of the trauma of this experience so I may be slightly off in my description of the slide.
It was a massive beast that ascended the heavens one hundred stories into the air. You had to walk up a staircase of broken glass to get to it and you went through a series of turns at breakneck speed which culminated with a free fall of about 25 feet into an alligator-filled lagoon.
Okay I'm lying. There were no alligators. So anyway, we went up and the whole time I'm writing out my will in my head. I eyed that the red slide in the corner seemed to be the slowest and safest one of the four so when it came time I'd just go down that one. Naturally we get to the top and one of these heifers gets scared and asks if we can switch. Being stupid I said, duh okay.
It started off fine. Nice and slow ride. Not bad for my first time on a slide. I kept my feet crossed and head back. Things were going well. It was one of those enclosed slides that looks more like a giant pipe. Well inside this pipe there were places along the way where streams of water would pour down from the top. I went under one such stream. Maybe that's normal, but for someone who has never been on a damn slide before it felt like I was being waterboarded. I instinctively sat up but the pipe wasn't made to be sat up in so I hit my damn head on the top of it. Then came another stream of waterboarding.
I'm choking, chlorinated water is in my eyes so I can't see and I'm disoriented from banging my head. Al Qaeda was winning. My vision finally clears in time for me to see this bright ass light. The noonday sun! Apparently I'd reached the end of the interrogation tunnel, and was now blinded from looking directly up at the sun after being in a dark place. I tried to look down at my feet to get an idea of how close I was to the end of the slide. I was partially blind and concussed by this point so all I could make out was something blue.
Is that water?
That's when the slide disappeared from underneath me and I was flung into a free fall into the pool of water below. Son of a (choking on water)! I start kicking and trying to get to the surface. It isn't working. I'm trying to float on my back, but I keep going under. I'm trying to right myself, but I'm still hazy from the tunnel of love. I see a lifeguard in my view. Help! I can't swim! I see her rushing over but not jumping in. Help goddammit! She's yelling out to me but I can't hear her b/c I'm under water. I'm ready to give up and drown but I start thinking about to the heifer that got me in this situation. I can't die without cursing her out first. Help! And that's when I finally piece together what the lifeguard was saying.
Stand up.
That's an odd thing to say to someone drowning.
The water isn't deep. Stand up.
What the hell is she talking about? Wait is that the ground? I stop fighting and realize that my butt is touching the bottom of the pool. I stand up and the water is at my knees. I look over and see the two girls staring at me like I'm special.
So son, the moral of this story is be yourself. Don't try to impress women, because you'll always fail at it. Oh, and find a woman who can't swim.
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Taxi!
I'm gonna open up my own Black cab company. They say that if you see a need you should create a business to fill it. Well, after watching this Black guy stand out on the corner trying to hail a cab to no avail, I'm going into business. It's not that I have anything against cab drivers in this city. The way they've been robbing, shooting and killing cab drivers, I can't blame them for being afraid. When I open up my company I plan to racially profile too, but I'm going to do it right.
First and foremost, I'm gonna do just like Dominos used to do back in the day.
What address? Oh we don't go over there.
Secondly, my entire cab will be bulletproof. From the run-flat tires to the bulletproof escape hatch I'm gonna install for my ejection seat (think: fighter jet), you'll need a rocket launcher to put a dent in my cab. I'm going to install one of those bulletproof turnstiles like they have at all the ghetto Popeyes so that you can pay me. There will be no hopping out without paying either, because the doors won't have handles and bulletproof windows don't roll down. The only way to get out is to put your money in the door like a soda machine or something. I know that in case of an emergency that might not seem to be too safe, but then again neither is walking through the hood late at night, so choose your battles. I'm sorry that it has to come to this but I'm not gonna be a statistic. I could avoid the business altogether, but the people need it. Let me tell you a story:
Once upon a time I had heart surgery. Contrary to what you see on television, not all hospitals wheel you to the door and put you in a cab. I signed out and me and my wife went outside to catch a cab. It was around lunchtime on a workday so cabs were abundant. About ten passed us by. Finally this white guy walked up and stood about five feet from us and held out his arm. A cab on the other side of the street made a U-turn for him. He motioned for us to take it and the driver pulled off as we walked up. He said, Well that was rude, to which I responded, You aint seen nothing yet.
Another cab stopped and did the same thing. When the third one stopped, he opened the door and pretended he was getting in and then told us to come on. The driver pulled off with the door still open. The White guy said, I'm so sorry. I don't know what else to do but I have to get to a meeting. We thanked him for trying and we got on the subway. Now imagine having heart surgery and then having to walk down the metro's broken escalators to stand and wait ten minutes for a train, walking up the escalators at the other station and then walking a mile home from the station. That's what I did and it hurt like hell the whole way home but not as bad as the feeling of a cab after cab blatantly refusing to even stop for you.
So yeah, my cab company's gonna be different.
First and foremost, I'm gonna do just like Dominos used to do back in the day.
What address? Oh we don't go over there.
Secondly, my entire cab will be bulletproof. From the run-flat tires to the bulletproof escape hatch I'm gonna install for my ejection seat (think: fighter jet), you'll need a rocket launcher to put a dent in my cab. I'm going to install one of those bulletproof turnstiles like they have at all the ghetto Popeyes so that you can pay me. There will be no hopping out without paying either, because the doors won't have handles and bulletproof windows don't roll down. The only way to get out is to put your money in the door like a soda machine or something. I know that in case of an emergency that might not seem to be too safe, but then again neither is walking through the hood late at night, so choose your battles. I'm sorry that it has to come to this but I'm not gonna be a statistic. I could avoid the business altogether, but the people need it. Let me tell you a story:
Once upon a time I had heart surgery. Contrary to what you see on television, not all hospitals wheel you to the door and put you in a cab. I signed out and me and my wife went outside to catch a cab. It was around lunchtime on a workday so cabs were abundant. About ten passed us by. Finally this white guy walked up and stood about five feet from us and held out his arm. A cab on the other side of the street made a U-turn for him. He motioned for us to take it and the driver pulled off as we walked up. He said, Well that was rude, to which I responded, You aint seen nothing yet.
Another cab stopped and did the same thing. When the third one stopped, he opened the door and pretended he was getting in and then told us to come on. The driver pulled off with the door still open. The White guy said, I'm so sorry. I don't know what else to do but I have to get to a meeting. We thanked him for trying and we got on the subway. Now imagine having heart surgery and then having to walk down the metro's broken escalators to stand and wait ten minutes for a train, walking up the escalators at the other station and then walking a mile home from the station. That's what I did and it hurt like hell the whole way home but not as bad as the feeling of a cab after cab blatantly refusing to even stop for you.
So yeah, my cab company's gonna be different.
Friday, February 3, 2012
My Mother Told Me To Pick This One
We were walking by the playground the other day and I found myself intrigued as I watched the little kids play. They had a soccer field, two basketball courts, a sand pit, some grassy area and then a big and little kid playground. I heard one of the kids say, "I'm bored."
REALLY?
I would have killed for a playground back in the day. Do you know what we had over a Maury Elementary School back in the 80s? CONCRETE. We went outside for recess and for 45 minutes we ran around, literally. We played tag, freeze tag and team tag. You yelled "one, two three, not it" or you did "bubble gum bubble gum" with your feet in a circle and then you played. If the school got a donation or a new teacher who still cared about children then we had a kickball. The fat kid always played pitcher and you called out whether you wanted it bouncy or just a regular roll. Then you kicked the hell out of it and hoped it didn't go up on the roof to die like the other ones.
I heard one of the little kids say, "I don't wanna get on the swings. The swings are boring."
Back in the day, swings were a goddamn anomaly. Going to a hood playground back in the day was like going on an archaeological dig in ancient Egypt. You'd see structures and make an educated guess about what USED to be there. I always saw two posts and the little hooks where a swing might have been back in the 60s or 70s, but we never had any. If you did find a playground with an intact swing that wasn't wrapped around the top and rusted over because of some ignorant child then you had better play on it quick before the bad ass project kids came along and tore that shit up.
The same went for basketball courts. We had plenty of basketball posts, there just weren't any hoops anywhere to be found. Back in the day a playground was two things: A place for kids to run around during the day and skid row at night. All kinds of shit went on inside those chain link fences after dark. Sometimes it was just grown men playing ball and ripping the hoops off the rim because they forgot this wasn't built for their big asses to dunk on. Other times it was people shooting up, having sex and doing god knows what. The next day you'd find anything from condoms to needles to bullets on the playground but one thing you didn't find were basketball rims.
Half the time it was too dangerous to go to the playground during the day, especially on the weekend, so you played in front of your house. There isn't a lot of space on the sidewalk so you made up games. There was "O-U-T, Out" which was just dodgeball but with three chances. "High, low" where you tied a rope to someone's fence and someone pulled the other end so you could all line up and see who could jump highest over the rope. There were always those sad looking lonely little girls who didn't have enough friends so they tied one end of the rope to a fence, one girl turned the other end and the second girl jumped in the middle. The boys played "throwback" where you just threw a football into a crowd and whoever caught it and made it out scored a point. If you got really bored then you just played "How many steps can I jump down."
All of this was done on concrete by kids who had little to no health insurance and we came out just fine. Sort of.
"Grandma, I fell outside and hit my head. I can't feel some of my fingers."
"I told you to keep your ass in here in the first place. Go in the room and lay down."
REALLY?
I would have killed for a playground back in the day. Do you know what we had over a Maury Elementary School back in the 80s? CONCRETE. We went outside for recess and for 45 minutes we ran around, literally. We played tag, freeze tag and team tag. You yelled "one, two three, not it" or you did "bubble gum bubble gum" with your feet in a circle and then you played. If the school got a donation or a new teacher who still cared about children then we had a kickball. The fat kid always played pitcher and you called out whether you wanted it bouncy or just a regular roll. Then you kicked the hell out of it and hoped it didn't go up on the roof to die like the other ones.
I heard one of the little kids say, "I don't wanna get on the swings. The swings are boring."
Back in the day, swings were a goddamn anomaly. Going to a hood playground back in the day was like going on an archaeological dig in ancient Egypt. You'd see structures and make an educated guess about what USED to be there. I always saw two posts and the little hooks where a swing might have been back in the 60s or 70s, but we never had any. If you did find a playground with an intact swing that wasn't wrapped around the top and rusted over because of some ignorant child then you had better play on it quick before the bad ass project kids came along and tore that shit up.
The same went for basketball courts. We had plenty of basketball posts, there just weren't any hoops anywhere to be found. Back in the day a playground was two things: A place for kids to run around during the day and skid row at night. All kinds of shit went on inside those chain link fences after dark. Sometimes it was just grown men playing ball and ripping the hoops off the rim because they forgot this wasn't built for their big asses to dunk on. Other times it was people shooting up, having sex and doing god knows what. The next day you'd find anything from condoms to needles to bullets on the playground but one thing you didn't find were basketball rims.
Half the time it was too dangerous to go to the playground during the day, especially on the weekend, so you played in front of your house. There isn't a lot of space on the sidewalk so you made up games. There was "O-U-T, Out" which was just dodgeball but with three chances. "High, low" where you tied a rope to someone's fence and someone pulled the other end so you could all line up and see who could jump highest over the rope. There were always those sad looking lonely little girls who didn't have enough friends so they tied one end of the rope to a fence, one girl turned the other end and the second girl jumped in the middle. The boys played "throwback" where you just threw a football into a crowd and whoever caught it and made it out scored a point. If you got really bored then you just played "How many steps can I jump down."
All of this was done on concrete by kids who had little to no health insurance and we came out just fine. Sort of.
"Grandma, I fell outside and hit my head. I can't feel some of my fingers."
"I told you to keep your ass in here in the first place. Go in the room and lay down."
Extra Credit
Sing along if you have kids...
FOR SHE'S A JOLLY GOOD CREDIT, FOR SHE'S A JOLLY GOOD CREDIT, FOR SHE'S A JOLLY GOOD CRE-E-DIT, THAT THE I.R.S. CAN'T DENY. THE I.R.S. CAN'T DENY!
I've been married for almost nine years and it wasn't until the baby came along that we actually got a tax refund. This is only the second year that we've had a child to claim, so the shock is still new for us. It's like looking at an infomercial or something. There's me doing the taxes and looking increasingly depressed as I make my way down the 1040.
There's always the initial disappointment when you get to line one for wages, tips and salary and you think to yourself, damn that's all we made? Then you go through and it reminds you of how broke your ass really is by asking you about stuff that only people with money can answer. Dividends? Capital Gains? Rental income? If it weren't for kids, the average person wouldn't even do a regular 1040. That old 1040-EZ used to be done in three minutes:
Wages: Very little
Tax paid: More than I'd like
Refund: Yeah right
Tax Due: How the hell do I owe???
So yeah, as I go through the 1040 line for line I get more depressed until that magic section about Child Tax Credit. How many dependents from line 6a? Multiply times what? Subtract from that. Then those magic words:
This is the amount you overpaid!
I wanted to break out a cardboard box and start break dancing. I picked up my daughter and carried her around the house on my shoulders like those Taco Bell commercials.
[caption id="attachment_1721" align="aligncenter" width="300" caption="My daughter, the hero."]
[/caption]
FOR SHE'S A JOLLY GOOD CREDIT, FOR SHE'S A JOLLY GOOD CREDIT, FOR SHE'S A JOLLY GOOD CRE-E-DIT, THAT THE I.R.S. CAN'T DENY. THE I.R.S. CAN'T DENY!
I've been married for almost nine years and it wasn't until the baby came along that we actually got a tax refund. This is only the second year that we've had a child to claim, so the shock is still new for us. It's like looking at an infomercial or something. There's me doing the taxes and looking increasingly depressed as I make my way down the 1040.
There's always the initial disappointment when you get to line one for wages, tips and salary and you think to yourself, damn that's all we made? Then you go through and it reminds you of how broke your ass really is by asking you about stuff that only people with money can answer. Dividends? Capital Gains? Rental income? If it weren't for kids, the average person wouldn't even do a regular 1040. That old 1040-EZ used to be done in three minutes:
Wages: Very little
Tax paid: More than I'd like
Refund: Yeah right
Tax Due: How the hell do I owe???
So yeah, as I go through the 1040 line for line I get more depressed until that magic section about Child Tax Credit. How many dependents from line 6a? Multiply times what? Subtract from that. Then those magic words:
This is the amount you overpaid!
I wanted to break out a cardboard box and start break dancing. I picked up my daughter and carried her around the house on my shoulders like those Taco Bell commercials.
[caption id="attachment_1721" align="aligncenter" width="300" caption="My daughter, the hero."]
[/caption]Wednesday, February 1, 2012
Baby's Day Out
It was 65 degrees yesterday so I decided to take my daughter outside. We're broke so we went somewhere free, The Capitol. I took her out of her stroller and tried to get her to pose for some pictures but of course she hauled ass as soon as I let her go. I ran after her and put her back into place and tried again.
This went on for a while.
Now it's important to the story that you know that I'm a very paranoid parent. You never know when you're gonna get trapped in the Metro/elevator/traffic/snowstorm/etc, so I keep a bunch of survival stuff in the bottom of the stroller. There's food, water, diapers, first aid, clothes and toys all individually sorted in large Ziploc bags. Now at no point did it occur to me what I looked like yesterday.
Let's recap:
I have a large black stroller.
Several large plastic bags underneath it
There's a blinking toy cell phone on top of the bags
And I just ran away full speed from it (to catch my daughter)
It's amazing just how much attention you get from the Capitol Police when you do that. I'm sure it also didn't help that my daughter seemed to strategically take off running in the direction of the motorcade that was parked out front. My headphones fell out of my ear as I was running, so I had them in my hand and my phone was in my pocket so I'm sure that was a good look to the police snipers: A guy running with a dark jacket and wires coming out of his coat.
As soon as I realized what I looked like to them, I scooped my daughter up and put her back in the stroller. I knew that if I tried to leave it would look way too suspicious. By this point there were like five or six cops in my area who weren't there before. So we walked around the grounds pretending to be interested. I sang Sesame Street songs and spoon fed her like Father of the Year. It almost worked until my daughter went into Phase 2 of get daddy arrested.
She's like Monk. She has this thing where she has to touch every light pole and jump on every manhole cover. All of those things are marked on the Capitol grounds so she's reading off the letters. I point to them too and say, What letter is this? What number is that? It was cute...until I realized there were cameras near those things (they're probably security risks) so I'm like Oh shit! Now it looks like we're taking inventory for Bin Laden Jr or something.
About four police approached us one at a time after that and asked how we were and if it was our first visit. One gave my daughter a Junior Police badge. I know damned well they weren't being friendly rather they were trying to size us up. Of course my daughter threw the badge on the ground as the woman handed it to her and I'm thinking Why don't you just yell death to America and get us both locked up!
I say the hell with it and decide to just leave before my daughter grabbed one of their guns or something. She picks up a stick off the ground and we make our way out. As we're leaving she drops the stick. I pick it up and I hear someone yelling through a headset or walkie talkie,
RIGHT THERE, RIGHT THERE...TARGET HAS SOMETHING... IDENTIFY...SHOT!
All of a sudden this Black dude who I thought was a visitor like me starts talking into his coat,
It's a stick. I repeat a stick. No Action. The little girl has a stick.
I couldn't get the hell outta there fast enough. We will never go back to the Capitol.
This went on for a while.
Now it's important to the story that you know that I'm a very paranoid parent. You never know when you're gonna get trapped in the Metro/elevator/traffic/snowstorm/etc, so I keep a bunch of survival stuff in the bottom of the stroller. There's food, water, diapers, first aid, clothes and toys all individually sorted in large Ziploc bags. Now at no point did it occur to me what I looked like yesterday.
Let's recap:
I have a large black stroller.
Several large plastic bags underneath it
There's a blinking toy cell phone on top of the bags
And I just ran away full speed from it (to catch my daughter)
It's amazing just how much attention you get from the Capitol Police when you do that. I'm sure it also didn't help that my daughter seemed to strategically take off running in the direction of the motorcade that was parked out front. My headphones fell out of my ear as I was running, so I had them in my hand and my phone was in my pocket so I'm sure that was a good look to the police snipers: A guy running with a dark jacket and wires coming out of his coat.
As soon as I realized what I looked like to them, I scooped my daughter up and put her back in the stroller. I knew that if I tried to leave it would look way too suspicious. By this point there were like five or six cops in my area who weren't there before. So we walked around the grounds pretending to be interested. I sang Sesame Street songs and spoon fed her like Father of the Year. It almost worked until my daughter went into Phase 2 of get daddy arrested.
She's like Monk. She has this thing where she has to touch every light pole and jump on every manhole cover. All of those things are marked on the Capitol grounds so she's reading off the letters. I point to them too and say, What letter is this? What number is that? It was cute...until I realized there were cameras near those things (they're probably security risks) so I'm like Oh shit! Now it looks like we're taking inventory for Bin Laden Jr or something.
About four police approached us one at a time after that and asked how we were and if it was our first visit. One gave my daughter a Junior Police badge. I know damned well they weren't being friendly rather they were trying to size us up. Of course my daughter threw the badge on the ground as the woman handed it to her and I'm thinking Why don't you just yell death to America and get us both locked up!
I say the hell with it and decide to just leave before my daughter grabbed one of their guns or something. She picks up a stick off the ground and we make our way out. As we're leaving she drops the stick. I pick it up and I hear someone yelling through a headset or walkie talkie,
RIGHT THERE, RIGHT THERE...TARGET HAS SOMETHING... IDENTIFY...SHOT!
All of a sudden this Black dude who I thought was a visitor like me starts talking into his coat,
It's a stick. I repeat a stick. No Action. The little girl has a stick.
I couldn't get the hell outta there fast enough. We will never go back to the Capitol.
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