Well, minding my own dangblamed business out and about on Saturday night I ended the fine evening at the Middling City's longest-running tavern, Ulrich's, past the edge of what most MC residents find acceptably close to the Elmwood Strip, what they believe to be the crux of matters.
At Ulrich's was a goodbye party to a duo moving to Manhattan. Amongst the revelers were a few rockstars, some video types, artistes, my beloved shiny happy mag editrix/pal and a few members of the Middling City police squad.
One of them, Ken B, stated that we had met before. I didn't recall. Then he mentioned the event and (believe this or not) up from the developing tray kasloshing in my mind's darkroom, I could see his face at an art opening at Art "Dialogue."
He is a photo student with my friend Ken. So this cop/photog tells me et al standing in a circle near the bar how he pulled me over one day and I, in a snarky and crafty nutshell, said to paraphrase a cop paraphrasing me in a moment that passed oh about, to his recollection, ten years ago:
Hi, I'm Nancy J. Parisi, I'm a photographer, I'm en route to shoot something for the commissioner.
He let me go. He finds it hilarious. It makes me a little uneasy thinking of my poor self back then all defensive yet composed and thinking I'll be goddamned if I'm getting a ticket. You walk that very small line when pulled over - charming, yes, but too charming and you're becoming patronizing and annoying.
And ladies, I've heard this from many a p.o. - never cry or say you're sorry when you're pulled over. You help the coply testosterone bubble up to the surface and you'll be writing a check for your small driving indiscretion in no time flat.
Ever-helpful Love.