Memoirs of a Geezer
Reflections and Observations -- A Bright Passage from the Fantasies of Youth to Illuminations of Advanced Maturity!
This Episode: A Fateful Right Turn...
(Author's Note: This posting is a fable, mostly... sort of! It is not about the usual perpetrator, but about an old chum who told outrageous tales, and engaged in equally outrageous behavior. This is one of his highly polished tales, undoubtedly containing more than a bit of hyperbole. Nevertheless, I found it and still find it somewhat amusing. And, who knows, maybe it's all true??!! I'd contact him in an effort to verify its authenticity, but he's dead! The story is told in first person narration style, as told to the perpetrator!)
I'm cruising in my ancient roadster. It's peaceful. No radio, windows closed. I make a right turn. I continue to drive. A siren screams just behind my assaulted ears, an explosion of highly unpleasant racket, like a screech owl swallowed a tweeter! The rear window is flooded with red and blue ink, an other-worldly atmosphere, as if I've been transported to a red planet. My breathing becomes labored and I expect to see oddly-shaped creatures made of smelly cheese and bumpy green lumpy edibles. 
I pull over. A uniformed police person appears at my window. He motions I should roll it down. I push a still-working button instead.
"Good day, sir. You know you just executed a right turn without using a proper turn signal, or an arm signal. Either would have been acceptable."
"I forget how to do them arm signals," I say, attempting a bit of comic relief, to lighten the police guy's potential anger or nastiness. "I'm just a peaceful Geezer trying to enjoy a quiet day motoring on the streets... You don't have to call me sir. I'm just a simple sort of chap..."
"It's not legal to execute a right turn without signaling your intention to do so!"
"Now see here, office sir, I'm drinking... and I'm driving with my knee, holding onto hot soup so it won't slop, securing a box of blintzes with sour cream, cole shaw... Also too I'm trying to smoke a fat Havana. I got two hands only, both pretty much occupied. I can't do everything..."
"Sir, are you trying to be funny?! Let me have your driving license." I hand over the license.
"That's me before my operation," I say pointing to the grainy photo. I also point to the part that reads, "Veteran"... "I'm a veteran, Ossifer, do you give citational-fine discounts to veterans?"
"You say you're drinking and driving? You've been drinking alcohol while driving?!"
"I used to drink boozy stuff, often imported beer when I drive. I used to like stout and other dark brews. German stuff. What's your poison? Gin, vodka, cheap whiskey?"
"Don't be impertinent," the officer says commandingly, agitation dribbing from his tone.
I continue. "Now it's just coffee or green tee, sometimes charged water, bubbly stuff. I been a drunkard-free former drunk for lotta years now, man, dude, bro.... Do you prefer one over another? Also too, I got prostate issues so I'm laying off the diet brown pop. You got any prostate trouble? How often do you have sex with the missus, or maybe without. I read that frequent such activity is good for prostate health."
"Step out of the vehicle, sir," he announces, bellowing and belching irritably. I suspect he's real angry.
"I'd rather not," I say. "I gotta go potty real bad, and any extraneous movement may trigger a disgrace. Couldn't we just have a nice chat? You outside there, me seated comfortably in my vehicle? You could come inside, passenger chair. Heater still works...
"I see in looking at your name here on your driving ticket what your family name is. Your first name is... Oh yes, I see that too... (odd name, what...) I've heard of your, um, pa..., I mean, your illustrious father. I should still cite you for the illegal right turn, however, not to mention your impertinence... You should speak to an officer of the law with more respect, not to mention sexual innuendo..."
"No need for that. But in future, use your turn signal or an arm signal." He hands back the driving license. "You be careful, now, and have a nice day."
I motor off, careful to use the turn signal stick as I edge from the curb. "I'll have whatever kind of day I choose to have, nice or otherwise," I state inside the privacy of my motor car. "I may endeavor to have a really crap day if I want... Don't know how that young police guy could have snuck up behind me so surreptitiously, the sneaky little poop nose." I light up a joint and pop open a can of Schlitz.
(Please Note: Just to repeat, and to re-emphasize, this story isn't about the perpetrator, but rather about an old acquaintance who frequently misbehaved, including when engaged in motor-vehicular traffic activity. He often told amusing stories to fascinated listeners. He should have written them down for posterity, I think! He did not, so someone had to! Tak.)
Humbly Submitted 07-27-2022 -- Joel
