The Undercover Cop
I would say I was an unconfrontational person. I don’t like arguments or fall outs. I don’t like to be on the receiving end of anyone’s animosity, negativity or anger. Stems from my childhood I think, where school was a pretty grim experience (will save that for another blog… maybe). But I do consider myself to be something of an undercover cop. Why? you may ask. I have no idea… well, maybe I have an inkling of an idea, having grown up with a mother who had very exacting standards and who would roll her eyes ferociously at anyone who disposed of litter anywhere other than ‘a bin’ (more about this later in The Litter Bug).
Anyway, I have no real desire to be a member of our police force (far too dangerous and scary for me) but I do feel this need to intervene in things that I consider to be wrong. I know, I know… I realise that we all have our own set of rules about what is and isn’t acceptable, that we’re all different, etc etc, but sometimes little things are BIG things and the undercover cop in me breaks out and all hell is let loose. I am no longer the easily scared person that I normally am – I have found a strength from within, Coincidentally (or maybe not) this theme crops in the YA novel I am currently… slowly… writing.
So, here are three wee tales, of my undercover cop exploits, starring me (as undercover cop) and the British public starring as the… well, the British public.
The Litter Bug
Me: sitting in car, parked up, waiting to collect son from school.
Fella: sat in car behind me. Throws empty cigarette pack out of car window on to road with sense of abandon.
Me: Gasps! (trasforms into Undercover Cop) Grashum snashum broooming shnashum…. Gets out of car and stolls languidly into road. Picks up empty cigarette pack from middle of road, strolls languidly (well, I like strolling languidly) to open window of car and says to man (with a smile) “I think you’ve dropped this.”
Fella: looking sheepish… “Nah, I didn’t.”
Me: “Yes, you did, you really did, and I don’t think you meant to,” handing it to man through open car window.
Fella: “Oh, right, yeh, okay.”
Me: smiling, returns to car and LAUGHS HEAD OFF thinking… I can’t BELIEVE I just did that!
The Fighting Laddoes
Me: walking along. languidly, minding my own business, five months pregnant with massive bump and arms-a-swinging, spots two laddoes in a clinch, one trying to rip other’s head off. “What are you doing?”
Laddoe 1: “What?”
Me: in an attempt to be more specific, “Why are you fighting?”
Laddoes 1 & 2: “rrreehh gehr greheuerhe”
Me: “Stop fighting! STOP FIGHTING”, grabbing laddoes by shoulders and forcing them apart.
Laddoe 1: “It’s alright, he’s my brother.”
Me: “I don’t give a monkey’s banana who he is. You should be nice to each other if you’re brothers, not be scrapping in the street. You should love each other. You should be ashamed of yourselves.”
Laddoes: stop fighting and walk off.
Another success for the Undercover Cop! However, my latest escapade leaves a lot to be desired and was not so much successful as, well, idiotic really!
The Eating Driver
Me: driving along, singing to The Horrors (‘Skying’ – excellent cd), and suddenly notice that in the car behind me, the driver is eating… yes, EATING. Says into mirror, “You’re eating, EATING, why are you EATING? That’s so dangerouos. Stop EATING!”
The Eating Driver: takes no notice and continues to eat.
Me: applies foot to brake and slows to about 20mph, saying into mirror “You’re still eating, you idjit, you’re supposed to be DRIVING, stop EATING”
The Eating Driver: takes no notice and lifts spoon to mouth.
Me: “Oh My God! No hands, you’ve got no hands, you’re driving with no hands. A SPOON, You’re eating with a spoon! Stop eating with a spoon”, slowing down to a crawl now and starts to gesticulate in mirror, shouting: “Put down your spoon, do you hear me, put down your spoon.”
The Eating Driver…. oh, the eating driver, in fact, ISN’T… driving… no, the person next to her is driving… the eating driver is, in fact, The Eating Passenger….
Me: “dum de dah dum”, goes back to singing The Horrors, and slams foot on accelerator in effort to make lumpy clumpy Ford C-Max develop supersonic forward motion to escape very angry people in car behind me, as have now realised I am a rubbish Undercover Cop, but could well make a fantastic Undercover Racing Driver!