A Trip to the Police Station

I've never really cared for the administrative assistant at the police station.  She's not as friendly as the officers.  Maybe it was the smirk she gave me when I went in to report a missing hub cab a few years back.  I don't know.  I do know she did not earn herself any more points today.

I needed another key made for my roommate.  They did not provide us with enough when we moved in, so we've had to get more made.  'Round these parts you do that at the police station.  I walked in yesterday and was told the key-maker had left for the day.  He would be back between 6 and noon today.  I went back today a little before noon, and he was out on the grounds.

At first she began to take down my name (not even daring to repeat my last name to me but requesting I spell it), request, and a phone number.  I did not get past the area code when she looked out the window and almost stood.  She picked her Blackberry up off of the desk and radio-ed the officer.

Officer: Go ahead.
Secretary: Can you come in and help this little girl?

Woah.  I glanced around to make sure she and I were the only ones in the room.  Nope, no little girl had snuck in on my watch.  I politely waited, but her words rang through my head.

"Help this little girl... help this little girl... help this little girl..."

Suddenly instead of a renter asking for a new key to be made, I felt like a child separated from her mother.  That's where separated children are told to do, right?  Seek help from police officers.  I contemplated producing some tears just to accurately play the part.

Officer Larry came through the front door and stood in front of me, so close that if there had not been a wall and fake ficus behind me I would have stepped backwards to remove him from my large personal bubble.  His eyes were the same level as mine, not bad for a little girl.

Officer Larry: What can I do for you?

I held up the key between our faces.  I told him my request and gave my apartment number.

Officer: You already have a key.
Katie: My roommate needs one.
Officer: This for the front door?
Katie: Yes, sir.
When it doubt, throw in the "sir."  It used to be so unnatural it sounded corny but after three years down South I have to remember to turn it off when I go home (and not say it to women...)

He took the key and walked away.  I was not sure if I should follow or not, but I did since he was still talking to me.

Officer: I've already made a bucket full of keys for that front door.
Katie: You've made one, and we need one more.
I didn't blabber my spiel about the apartment housing six students and the school only providing four keys because I was interrupted by the Chief of Police.

Chief: You made a bucket full-a them?  Now whatcha gonna do?  Can your bucket hold one more?
Officer Larry: I guess so.
Katie: Thank you.

Officer Larry disappeared I stood in Chief's doorway waiting.

Chief: What are you up to today?
Katie: Causin' trouble.
Chief: Would you stop that?
Katie: What are you up to?
He looked down at his desk, knowing my eyes would follow and see his Subway sandwich and chips.
Katie: Eatin' lunch?
Chief:  Yup. 
Katie: All day?
Chief:  Yup.  You're like my wife.  I'm sitting on the tractor and she says, "Are you going to cut the grass?"  I want to say, "No, I'm just sitting here because I feel like it."

I contemplated telling him about how my dad and his neighbor-friends gather their matching orange tractors in the middle of the yard, rest their feet on the steering wheels, sit back, and enjoy a good beer and great company.  But I remembered I'm in the South... and talking to a police chief.  Crazy Northern Lutheran stories were probably unwelcome.

Instead, I should have asked to ride the segway.  Chief might have actually said yes.  Either that or he would have said, "Don't mistake my kindness for weakness."  I'm not really sure.

I didn't get to find out because Officer Larry came back with two keys and sent this "little girl" on her way to find her own lunch to eat all day. 

<>< Katie

Tractor on Fire; Katie on Tractor

When it comes to household jobs, cutting the grass is my favorite.  I get to fly around the yard, write, and get paid for it.  Sweet!

I'm quite a sight when I cut the grass.  Today I am wearing a blaze orange shirt, not quite matching the orange of my tractor, and brown shorts with black Chacos (I'm looking to enhance the Zorro-like tanlines on my feet).  To top it off, I'm wearing my notorious cowboy hat, I have a blue Off! fan latched to my shorts, and my iPod is strapped to my thigh using the elastic band intended for a runner's arm.  Yeah, really pretty.

I'm lost deep in thought, memories, and stories that may someday be blog-worthy when all of the sudden I hear this nasty noise.  It kind of sounds like I ran over something, but I haven't.  I keep going and there is a second noise, not as loud as the first.  At the third noise, I stop the tractor.  I see Mom inside the house walking towards me as I turn it off.

"Did you hear that?" I ask.

She assures me she has and asks what it was.  Like I know.  Then she tells me the tractor was smoking.

I hop off the tractor.   "It's on fire," I say.  "Yes, I see a flame."  Keep in mind, I hate fire.  Been there; done that.  Lived to tell the tale; have the scars to prove it.

Mom runs to get the fire extinguisher, her trademark move.  From a reasonable distance, I watch the grass burn.  There is only one flame, but it is bigger than you would see on a candle.

"Do I even know how to work this?" She asks as she pulled the pin out of the fire extinguisher.  She pushes the levers together and it blows a fog-like gas.  Well, the wind take it and it showers me with fire extinguisher fluid.

The flame goes out, our tractor needs to be serviced, our fire extinguisher needs to be inspected, and the grass still needs to be cut.  Oh, and I smell like Off!, grease, freshly cut grass, forget me nots, smoke, and fire extinguisher.

When we tell Dad what happened, he just laughs.  And laughs.  And laughs.  He's now outside trying to fix the poor piece of flaming machinery.  I told him to scream if he needs me to call 911.  All quiet in the front.

I'm fine, by the way.  A little traumatized and just as pyro-phobic as ever, but it's just another day in the life...

<>< Katie

Brothers in Christ

Since my reader is anonymous, I can't tailor my blogs to her (I think it's a her).

Confession time: I my only brother is the tractor. Sometimes I eel like I missed out by being in a primarily female family. My dad always teases he's the minority in the sorority, but it's actually true. My life has almost always been filled with female friends and I've had very few close guy friends over the years. This summer my sister was teasing me about the "four" guys I have in my phone. (In my defense, I really have more than four guy friends but that's beside the point... and I mean their numbers in my phone not the guys themselves because that would be weird). I think all of these factors could contribute to why I don't really know how to behave around guys.

However, as of late, I've discovered I have a lot more guy friends than I'm given credit for having. I mean, go back and reread this blog. Either I have my share of guy friends, I'm making up, or the few I do have just inspire me write. (All of the above is not an option). I've also taken a look at where I've spent my time lately. Monday night confirmed this inkling when I was actually one of the guys for a few hours.

Monday night, my Green Bay Packers played the Minnesota Vikings and I was invited to watch the game with a bunch of guys (and a few girls briefly). At first, I was wondering if they were all Vikings fans who invited me over for a good laugh as my team was destroyed. Most of them are Vikings fans, but they didn't laugh at me. Not even when I confessed part of a deep secret: I don't really understand football. I know to cheer when the green guys are running and to boo when the purple guys score. I know Brett Favre is a traitor. I know the thing on my head is a cheesehead. Ask me about scoring and I'm clueless. I even had to think if football games were separated into quarters or only halves. Hockey I can explain in full detail. Tennis I can play. I understand the basics of basketball and baseball, but football and futbol (soccer) leave me totally confused.

It didn't really matter. We weren't all glued to the tv. Fellowship, friendship, and football took place in that dorm room. I looked over Four Year Plans (I love these!), we traded pictures from this last weekend, and we shared life together. I got the opportunity to witness true selflessness (a guy offering to drive a friend three hours to her date with a different guy, sit around while she was on her date, and drive her three hours back), someone else pull the door shut to shield the girls' eyes when a friendly dorm prank turned dirty and involved the removal of pants, oh, and I wasn't killed when I helped myself to a guy's food either. I realize this isn't normal: we all gathered to watch the football game and it was just background noise, yet it was wonderful. It is how it should be: brothers and sisters helping each other out and spending time together while honoring their Abba Father.

<>< Katie

Oh, and just to clarify: I'm not dating nor am I trying to impress any of these guys. They didn't pay me to say this either; they're the brothers I've never had. :-)