I am the Law Enforcement whisperer.....

"One who talks sweet does not have an enemy and is blessed with plentiful of wealth and good fortune. ”

- Riq Veda

I'm not one to boast but I have come to believe that I have the most amazing talent in the world (or I'm just amazingly lucky, either way it's pretty sweet). In my 11 years of driving in this precious little town of Napa I've been pulled over 8 times and only received 1 ticket. And I can tell you honestly that every single one of those times I have deserved a ticket, and expected to get one. But for some reason the men and women of the Napa Police and Sheriffs Departments will not give me a ticket. It's a miracle! If you are from Napa, you will know that this is a feat akin to Moses parting the Red Sea. The Napa Fuzz is hardcore!

Saturday, July 5th. 9:45pm

After stopping to watch some lovely fireworks along the Silverado Trail my friends an I were bee-boppin' down the Silverado Trail when suddenly, out of nowhere, there's a big white fluffy demon dog in the road. AHHHH! I swerve to avoid hitting it and punch it to get the heck outta there. My heart is now pumping about a kagillion miles a minute and I continue to step on the gas, we're now speeding down the Silverado Trail in excess of 80mph. We just pass Darioush when my heart rate returns to normal.

Two minutes from home, I'm breathing easy now but still speeding. I glance in my rear view mirror to see the all too familiar lights of Napa's Finest. I take my foot off the gas and cruise on over tot the side of the road. I dig for my license while Jerome (yeah that's a fake name) digs through my glove compartment for my registration.

**TAP TAP TAP***

"Where's the fire young lady?" Very upset looking officer says leaning over my driver side window.

"Home." I say, my voice filled with 'please don't take me to jail'.

"I'm going to need you license and registration..."

I hand him my ID, proof of insurance and registration looking very shameful. He walks back to his cruiser to check them. I take a deep breath and look over at my passengers and tell them, "I'm for sure going to get a ticket......" The car is silent and the Officer returns to the window.

"Please step out of the car Miss."

HO-LY CRAP!!! I can't believe it, I'm going to jail, oh crap oh crapity shit fuck.......

"Now step over her and we are going to do a little test. Feet and ankles together and I want you to follow the tip of my pen with your eyes......" Says the Officer while he shines his bright ass flashlight in my face. Keep in mind this guy looks like Officer Farva from Super Troopers, meow. He starts the test and I LOCK my eyeballs onto the pen cap following side to side, up and down and in a circle until it kind of hurts. "Alright you can go back to your car."

Flashlight down and I can breathe again. I scurry back to my car leaving him with a very shameful "thank you". I get back in the car and turn to my friends "The good news is I'm not drunk." I get two very tentative smiles but that's good enough given the situation.

I hear the Officer's footsteps coming back toward the car and turn to the window to become nose to paper with my ID, Insurance and registration. I slowly take them back from him, again looking very very shameful. Then the magic happens "I'm going to save you a couple hundred dollars since you've been so nice. You just try and keep it under the speed of sound."

IT'S A 5th of July MIRACLE!!!
Bless you Officer Farva you big beautiful man!!!

Then I drove my ever so slightly buzzed ass home. :)

Moral of the Story:

Saying thank you, even if it's to The Man from time to time, will get you out of a jam 99% of the time.

Rage Against The Man.

I love my job......most of the time. It's a good job. It's fun, challenging, in a great industry, blah blah blah. But there are some days though. Days it make me want to give the man (from this point forward please think of "the man" as the boss man or the business) the finger, sell everything I own and become a vagabond. There's days where I honestly look at myself and ask "What the f$%* are you doing here? Why do you put up with this S#$% for so little return?" It those days when I look at those people who are 35 and have nothing to show as accomplishments but great stories and stamps in their passport and think that they have it all right.

I can't say that I choose to do what I do it's a labor of love because it's truly not, I don't think you can love something that's not yours and you definitely can't love something that belongs to the man. What's the point in putting so much of yourself into something just to have the man make you feel insignificant. Looking at it all now I would have to call it a labor of need, I need to feel like I 'm making a difference, like I'm making things better than they were before and I need to feel success in spite of the man. And wanting to succeed in spite of the man is what fuels my fire, keeping me hard at work with no stamps in my passport and more clothes than I will ever have room for in my closet.

Maybe someday I'll accept the fact no one can beat the man. You can have your fair share of victorious battles, which will and should be celebrated with vodka and bubbles. But the war against the man will never end, least of all in his defeat. None the less I, like many others like me, will continue the struggle in spite of the man and in the end I will feel victorious knowing that by my score I am the winner.