No Wonder People Think Cops are Dicks

This week I stopped at the Commerce Union Bank in Springfield, TN. Commerce is a small, local business – the kind where sociable tellers greet customers by name. The bank, decorated for Christmas, was busy but cheerful.

At one point, two policemen walked inside, one African American and the other white, both youngish, tall, attractive – the kind of cops featured on news stories, magazine covers.

The police were friendly too, first flirting with the hot blond behind the counter, then exchanging pleasantries with all the tellers. I noticed they were from Coopertown, a mile down the road, and since Dawn, a feral dog on Smith Street, is always on my mind, I couldn’t help but wonder if their department had a tranquilizer or net gun we could use to catch her.

They seemed so approachable, I couldn’t resist. I explained the situation, asking for their advice or help.

The white cop, first pointing to his pistol, answered, “The only gun I got is right here. That’s how I would take care of it.”

The blond teller he had been flirting with belted out laughing, thinking he was kidding, but he wasn’t. He smiled and nodded, verifying my fear.

I shouldn’t have been surprised; after all, Dawn is terrified of humans because the S.P. D. massacred her whole family with shotguns, but his bluntness sent me over the edge.

I whipped my head towards the giggling teller. “He’s not kidding.” My voice was sharp, louder than I had intended. The bank got quiet, everyone so merry a second before, still and listening.

“You’re not kidding are you?” I challenged.

The black cop looked away, not meeting my eye, but the white guy, still smiling his cover-boy smile, cocked his finger like he was shooting a pistol and shook his head.