August 25, 2007
A letter to Acidman
Originally published [by Sam] November 2, 2005
Dad received this letter and wanted me to post it.
"Here is a hilarious letter I received from a fellow Georgian"
Here's the late night piss-call story for your entertainment.
Many years ago, I was working A-line, (11PM to 7AM). Hours into the shift, the coffee I'd been swilling hit bottom. I drove out to a rural part of town, turned onto a little dirt lane, drove the full length to make sure there were no late-night lovers parked along it and pulled up to some brush preparatory to relieving myself.
At the time I was carrying in the left handed holster, an S&W Model 19 .357 Magnum. Large grip. Huge ass grip. Popped the seat belt and vaulted from the car. Seat belt wrapped itself around the huge asses grip and flung the revolver like a catapult into the deepest most impenetrable growth of brush outside of the equatorial Africa.
I'm hopping from foot to foot to keep from soiling dark blue wool trousers and cussing a mile a minute. Priorities rule so I drag out Mr. Johnson and proceed to empty my over full bladder.
As the first powerful stream begins, radio in patrol car starts squawking my car number. I don't know if you've ever tried to halt this kind of operation in mid stream, but it's a little like trying to slow down Niagara Falls with a three gallon bucket.
Now I'm bent in half, trying to aim away from myself with one hand and answer the dispatch with the other. Needless to say, said stream is now directed tight at bush where sidearm was last seen flying through the air. Dispatcher advises me that I have a burglar alarm going off at a business Route 9W north. I am on dirt lane off Route 17K west. Kinda like being on Tybee Island and getting sent to Southside Savannah.
You have to know that at this time I was in something of a quandary because the only other copper on duty was out of service for his meal break. We didn't have portable radios at this time so he was unreachable except by telephone and, as he was senior man, calling him out of his dining experience would put me in deep shit.
So, I explain to dispatch that I am all the way out on 17K and my response time would be a little long. Now I've finally emptied the bladder and was trying to decide how to tackle retrieving revolver without getting warm saline soltion all over me. Even though it was my own product, if I had to come in contact with the owner of the business or other civilians, I didn't want to smell like Trailways bus station.
I popped the trunk on my patrol car and rummaged around for something to use as a hook to snag and fetch with. We all carried an expandable haligin tool for at that time. The kind of hooked pry bar you used to see on a fire truck. I found it and extended it to it's full length, (about 5 feet) I found my revolver lying in a little hollow in the bush. Yup, a little hollow, just right for holding about a gallon of the aforementioned warm saline solution.
Now I return to the truck for rubber gloves. Found an empty box where rubber gloves used to be. Really turning into a wonderful evening, figured it was about time for a meteor to impact roof of patrol car. Sucked it up, reached into the bush and retrieved weapon with bare hand. Shook excess moisture off, dried as best I could with paper towels from truck, holstered and began long journey to sire of burglar alarm.
On the way, I opened all window and turned heater and fan to highest setting in hope of dispelling any ambient fumes and evaporating any leftover moisture. And of course, upon arrival it was a false alarm accidentally set off by the owner of the business.
-Name Withheld For Privacy
All content © Rob Smith