Total Perspective Vortex
What really happened to Trillian? Theories abound, but you can see what she's really been up to on this blog. If you're looking for white mice, depressed robots, or the occasional Pan Galactic Gargleblaster you might be better served here: http://www.bbc.co.uk/cult/hitchhikers/guide/.
Don't just sit there angry and ranting, do something constructive.
In the words of Patti Smith (all hail Sister Patti): People have the power.
Contact your elected officials.
Don't be passive = get involved = make a difference.
Words are cool.
The English language is complex, stupid, illogical, confounding, brilliant, beautiful, and fascinating.
Every now and then a word presents itself that typifies all the maddeningly gorgeousness of language. They're the words that give you pause for thought. "Who came up with that word? That's an interesting string of letters." Their beauty doesn't lie in their definition (although that can play a role). It's also not in their onomatopoeia, though that, too, can play a role. Their beauty is in the way their letters combine - the visual poetry of words - and/or the way they sound when spoken. We talk a lot about music we like to hear and art we like to see, so let's all hail the unsung heroes of communication, poetry and life: Words.
Here are some I like. (Not because of their definition.)
Mamas, Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to be Smart Girls
(A Trillian de-composition, to the tune of Mamas, Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys)
Mama don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
Don’t let them do puzzles and read lots of books
Make ‘em be strippers and dancers and such
Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
They’ll never find men and they’re always alone
Even though men claim they want brains
Smart girls ain’t easy to love and they’re above playing games
And they’d rather read a book than subvert themselves
Kafka, Beethoven and foreign movies
And each night alone with her cat
And they won’t understand her and she won’t die young
She’ll probably just wither away
Mama don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
Don’t let them do puzzles and read lots of books
Make ‘em be strippers and dancers and such
Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
They’ll never find men and they’re always alone
Even though men claim they want brains
A smart girl loves creaky old libraries and lively debates
Exploring the world and art and witty reparteé
Men who don’t know her won’t like her and those who do
Sometimes won’t know how to take her
She’s rarely wrong but in desperation will play dumb
Because men hate that she’s always right
Mama don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
Don’t let them do puzzles and read lots of books
Make ‘em be strippers and dancers and such
Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
They’ll never find men and they’re always alone
Even though men claim they want brains
Life(?) of Trillian
Single/Zero
Thursday, November 18, 2004
Hi Everyone. I know. Long time no post.
Trillian’s life has been more (?)able than ever lately.
It’s all bad.
Sick mum, assault and robbery, insane deadlines on difficult projects at work...every minute of every day. Yes, every minute because I’m sleeping even less than usual, and when I do sleep it’s that barely asleep kind of sleep where you’re still conscious enough to think about stuff but it ends up seeming like dreams.
I have been filled with words, as ever, but way too personal, paranoid and boring to post here.
I can condense what’s been going on, and the gist of most of the words I’ve written by stating: I have spent every minute of every day since October 31 either: At the bank, on the phone with one of the bank’s many fraud and claim departments (one for check fraud, a different one for debit/ATM card fraud), at the DMV, on the phone with the credit card company, on the phone to my landlord, the phone company and PayPal explaining why there’s no money in my checking account (because my bank takes 4 - 6 weeks to replace the money taken from my account, every penny I had given to someone who wasn’t me by one of their tellers, there is no justice in this world, especially in the banking world), on the phone with the detective in charge of my case, at the precinct picking up my report and looking at mug shots and answering the same questions, at the precinct again because there have been two more attacks similar to mine and they think it’s the same guy, in my doctor’s office regarding a sprained ankle and broken rib from the assault, trekking back and forth to Detroit, visiting and taking care of my mother, taking care of all the things my mother usually does at home because my father doesn’t know to do them, doesn’t want to do them or can’t figure out how to do them (the man can rebuild a transmission in record time but he can’t figure out how to use the washer and dryer...), on the phone with my mother’s ever growing number of doctors and specialists, managing my mother’s website/blog keeping all the family and friends updated so they don’t have to call or wait for a call from me or my father regarding my mother’s progress, helping my sister with (a serious legal problem), helping her daughters through a different (serious issue), trying to get out of my lease, looking at apartments, arguing with my landlord, looking at more apartments, on the phone with tenant’s rights association people, looking at more apartments, oh, and, sometime in there, managing two very, very needy and intense and demanding clients and their projects. You know, my job.
So yeah, kind of busy, kind of not feeling very good physically or mentally. Kind of stressed. Kind of pushed beyond what I can handle. Kind of feel the last screw unthreading and wiggling loose. Those are just a few of my issues right now. My friends, people whom I really care about, are also going through horrible things. Things which would normally send me packing and flying to be with them but I can’t because I have too many family and work and living responsibilities and that makes me feel really awful even though I know they understand I don’t like being so far away and unable to help them and I just really want to be four years old and safe in my mum’s lap reading Bread and Jam for Frances. Jam on biscuits, jam on toast, jam is the thing that I like most..
On the other hand: Mum’s facing her issues with determination, dignity and humor and atta girl, Mum, you are an example for the rest of the Universe, especially me. My rib is feeling a lot better. The hand and finger shaped bruise around my arm is now a faint shade of brown, not the vivid blue and green and yellow reminder it was. My sprained ankle only hurts when I press on it, it’s still swollen but I actually wore heels for a few hours yesterday. I found an apartment I really like, smaller and more expensive than mine, a huge step backwards on the money:space ratio, but I like it. My landlord has almost kind of sort of agreed to let me out of my lease. I think. Maybe. Will find out today, I hope. I might actually get a (small) pay increase in January (things are looking up financially for our company). People at work know my personal life is stretching me to my gills and are leaving me alone except for necessary communication about projects. HWNMNBS has been enormously supportive and concerned and kind and caring and helpful. (I know, I know, leave me alone. I’m in crisis here, I need him, okay? Give me a break. I love that man. I know it's wrong and bad for me to even think about him. But these are extraordinary times for me and I need him. Yes. I need him. And he's being really great. Really, really great. He's not letting me be all proud and girly and alone. He's forcing himself on me in the best possible way because we both know he's the one person in the Universe who understands and won't judge or criticize or scare or anything else I don't need right now. He is and will be exactly the person I need to lean on through all of this. So just go tut tut in that other room and spare me the I told you so's and just leave me alone about this. Maybe it's totally the wrong thing but right now it's the right thing. I'll deal with hindsight when I'm through this and it's behind me. For all that's happened, he's still my best friend and right now I need my best friend.) Besides, Brit Barrister erm, um, returned, and has been incredibly kind and helpful. (I know, I know this, too. He was in town on business and rang to say hello. When he heard my tales of woe he was genuinely concerned. He’s not expecting "anything" in return, he’s just being nice. Really. He knows my whole deal with him. No I'm not protesting too much. Give me a break. He rang, we talked, there was a dinner and a few drinks. Period. He's gone home. Nothing okay? Yes we like each other. No. No more LDRs. He was a willing port of call in a storm. We get along and that's that.) Besides that, in between all of this I finally had a date with a new guy from months ago, who really likes me and, well, you know, he’s sort of okay. (More on this later. Maybe. Really, the last thing I want or can handle right now is dating or trying to start a new relationship or even trying to meet new people. I honestly do not have time, energy or interest.) My friends who haven’t been embedded in working out their own problems have been incredibly supportive and helpful, even from thousands of miles and continents away. (I am: A Plague of Stress and Danger by Association to everyone I know. You may be in danger just by reading this. Everyone I know has had huge, weird, bad, all consuming things happen to them in the past month.)
And so help me if you’re sitting there thinking, “it could be worse...” take that smarmy platitude of yours and shove it...Right. Things could be worse. You’re right. They could. Things can always be worse.
But they could also be better.
There are no lessons to be learned in any of this that I (or anyone else involved) haven’t already learned.
“Aw Trill, it’s just life,” you say.
You’re right. It is just life. It’s just stuff which happens to people. Live long enough and you’ll endure a lot. I know that. Which is why I’ve spared the Universe my words about all of this. Frustration, fear, sorrow, shock...I mean, what’s the point to any of that? Tune into any soap opera and you’ll get it.
But who needs to have their life imitate that very bad art form?
Right.
I had to submit a report to the cops about my attack. That was fun. Whomever thought up that little exercise rates high on my list of sadists employed by The Man.
(Rubbing hands together in wicked glee and anticipation) “How can we really make the victims of violent crimes suffer? How, how, how...?”
(Cut to middle of the night in a bedroom, waking and turning on the bedside light, the sadist sits up in bed wearing rubber ducky print pajamas) “Eureka! I’ve got it! A plan so perfect, it’s genius in its simplicity!”
(Cut to a precinct office, the sadist in a cop uniform.) “Okay ma’am, we’re gonna need you to fill out a statement report. You can do this here or send it to us. Take your time, try to remember as many details as possible. Write them all down. You never know what might be helpful to us. So be sure to write everything that happened. Everything. EVERYTHING. EVER EE THINNGGGG. BWA HA HAAAAAAAAAA”
Oh sure, make the victims relive the most horrifying experiences of their lives. And as if conjuring the memories weren’t enough, they’re made to write them down in an official report.
“Oh, you don’t have to do this, but it would be helpful...” “...catch the assailant...” “...good citizen...” “...help prevent this from happening to someone else...”
That’s what they’ll tell you. Lay the guilt on nice and thick. But they won’t offer you therapy or medication to help you cope with the fear and trauma those memories cause. They won’t even beef up the patrol in your neighborhood. My paranoid suspicion is that the sadists employed by The Man get together and sit around the back room, maybe one of those interrogation rooms you see on television, with beer and chips and read the victims' reports out loud. Each week the one who brings in the “best” report gets the jelly donut.
Okay, fine. Give 'em what they want.
Anatomy of an Assault
Sunday afternoon, approx 3:45 PM. Sunny Halloween afternoon, busy neighborhood, many people out enjoying the warm Fall afternoon. Children trick or treating, many on their way to a neighborhood Halloween party.
Me, running errands, just completed the last stop on the list, movieplace, have just procured DVDs for small get together later that evening. (Elvira for the holiday fun, Station Agent for the indie sensitivity and feel goodedness.
I see a large man walking down the middle of a busy street, weaving and darting about, in between cars, he looks either drunk or stoned, scruffy, maybe homeless. In any of those cases, something about him makes me notice him, makes me want to keep my distance. Grip pepper spray in pocket. Trusting my intuition, I look behind me, look across the street, what are my best options? Crowds of people everywhere, surely this guy’s not going to try anything at 3:30 on a busy street? Still. Intuition says: Keep your distance.
Check traffic, cross street, alley down that way, cross next street to get away from alley. Traffic. Lots of it.
Where is he? Swut! Where’d he go?
Intense pain in shoulder.
DVDs grabbed out of my hand.
What the...?
Ah. There he is.
Scream.
Loud.
Scream again, louder, with more feeling.
(I knew it. I swutting knew it. Get out pepper spray.)
Pain in side.
(Call 9-1-1! someone yells)
Pain in arm.
Trying to get my handbag off my arm.
Scream.
Take it! Just take it! (get handbag off shoulder this guy is beating me swutting handbag come on get off my shoulder scream ouch take it! TAKE IT! scream again)
(Get the *#cking cops! someone yells)
Scream. (he’s got my handbag, now just go, okay?! Go! Pepper spray out. Grabbing my wrist. Can’t spray. Dropping pepper spray. DAMMIT. SCREAM!!!!!!!)
But no. He’s still punching me, he’s picked me up, swut, this guy is CARRYING/DRAGGING me into the alley. No. No alley. Will die in alley. No alley. Alley bad. Mum needs me. No alley. Scream. Kick and hit and get loose from this guy. Twist. Twist and turn and kick. Kick. Hard. Doc Martined foot in balls. Yes!!! Direct hit! Sterilize the evil! Render him a eunuch! Wait. This guy is still standing after that?! I KNOW I got him. Still standing. Still holding me. It is not human. SCREAM!!!! SCREAM GIRL!!! YOUR LIFE REALLY DOES DEPEND ON IT!!!! JUST. SWUTTING SCREAM!!!! (Not help, don’t scream help. No one will help. Fire? FIRE!!!! Not working. Still carry/dragging me to alley. Twist. Kick. Scream. HWNMNBS!!!! HWNMNBS!!!! SCREAM!!!! HWNMNBS!!!! SCREEEEEAAAAAAAMMMMMMMMMM!!!!
(Leave her alone you mother *@cking son of b!tch! someone yells)
Two guys. Two guys helping me, two guys trying to grab this maniac.
Scream some more.
Wait. He’s bodyslamming me into the pavement.
Scream.
Guys trying to beat him from behind.
Ouch. Ankle. Hip. Head. Hit pavement. Pain. Hurt.
(Expletive!) he’s going to rape her! someone yells.
Someone. People. Bunch of people. Bunch of people staring down at me. Someone has one of those smelly coffee drinks.
Officer C, Chicago PD, let me through! Ma’am? Ma’am? Miss? Ma’am can you hear me? I’m Officer C, Chicago PD, can you hear me?
Yeah.
Can you move?
Yeah.
Where does it hurt?
Face. Neck. Arm. Ankle.Awwwe swut my other ankle. Arm. Neck. Neck. Hurt. Mum. Those guys are bloody. He hit them. They help. Me. Them. Nice guys. Okay. Hurt them. He. Him. That way. Bad man. Handbag. Got my handbag. (This is how I sort of remember it, I suspect the reality was even more incoherent and choppy.)
Ma’am, can you move? Do you want me to help you move?
No. I think. No. Okay. No. Thanks. Okay. I can move. That big jerk. My handbag! Bank! Credit card! Bank!
We’ll call your bank, come on, let’s get to the squad car.
Do you want an ambulance?
No.
No? You sure?
Yeah, I’m okay, I think. He got my insurance card anyway. I’m not going to Cook County. No way.
Are you sure?
Yes. Moving slow but okay. I think.
I have paramedic training, I can help you. Or get a female officer if you want.
Thanks. No. Okay. Squad car.
Nice officer C helping me. Officer C very nice young man. Good cop. Helping me to squad car. Lots of people. Children. Women holding babies. Don’t let the little ones see this.
Two guys who tried to help me. Hi guys. Thanks. Sorryabout your faces. Guilt. Feeling guilty because they tried to help me and got hurt and potentially disfigured. Officer P talking to them.
Officer C helping me into back seat of squad car. Surprisingly comfortable. Roomy, too.
We’re going to need a few details from you, but I want to look at your head first, okay?
Sure. Thanks.
Ouch that hurts. No really. That hurts. A lot.
Nasty bump there. Do you hurt anywhere else?
Arm. Arm hurt bad. Ankle. Stomach. Bank!
Okay, got a phone right here, what’s your bank?
(Big national bank)
I’ll call right now, we’ve got the number.
Officer C. Very nice guy. Love officer C.(MegaCorp) credit card, too.
Okay, we’ll call them too. Were you alone, do you have someone with you?
No. Alone. By myself.
You don’t know those guys who helped you?
No. Nice guys.
Yeah, this is officer P Chicago PD, I have an assault and robbery victim, need to freeze her accounts. Don’t have report number yet. Yeah, she can talk. Here, ma’am, they need your info.
Person at bank apologizing. Wants my social security number and name. And address. And mum’s maiden name. Good thing that bump wasn’t any worse. MUM! Want my mum! Mum in hospital. Mum very sick. Mum!Checking. Debit card. Yes. Checks in handbag. Okay. Thanks. Bye. You, too.
All set with your bank? Your mother’s in the hospital? Officer C asking too many questions and feeling my head. We’ll call (MegaCorp) and get that card frozen.
Okay. Thanks. Yeah. Mum’s in hospital.
Let’s be sure you don’t need to join her there. You live across the street, over there?
Yes.
D’he get your keys?
No. In pocket. I think. Yes. They’re there.
Good. Smart girl. (thanks) Yeah, this is officer P, I have an assault and robbery victim, need to freeze her accounts. Don’t have report number yet. Yeah, she can talk. Here, ma’am.
MegaCorp person wants my social security number and name. And zip code. And mum’s maiden name. Again. Visa. Okay. Thanks. Bye. You, too.
MegaCorp’s good, always fast with these. Officer P and I will take you home. You have friends around here? Someone I can call for you?
Um. Erm. Out of town. They are. I’m okay.
You’ve got two bad bumps on your head, I you shouldn't be alone for a while.
How is she? Officer P looking in at us. Peering in at me.
Bad head and arm contusions, twisted ankle, maybe more.Officer C and officer P good guys.
Call the meds?Officer P likes cop lingo.
No. She doesn’t want to, (expletive expletive racial slur) got her insurance cards, she doesn’t want to go to County.Should officer C say those things? Doubt it. Don’t care right now. Officer C good guy. Hates big fat evil man.
Don’t blame you. What about your doctor?
Don’t have number with me. I’m okay. Officer P is tall. Muscle. Shirt sleeves rolled up like Ponch. Officer P. Ponch. Huh.
The other guys are going to NW, one of the wives is taking them. Maybe you could go with them. Don’t know them. No insurance card. Bunch of people with officer P. Staring in squad car. Staring at me. Crouch into car and officer C. Officer C’s arm around me. Officer C thinks I need a hug. Oh swut, officer C thinks I need a hug. I mean, I probably do, but I wasn't asking for one, I just don't want these people to see me like this. People staring. Children. Little children. Don’t want them to see this. Oh look a Teletubby. The purple one. Who dresses up their kid as Tinky Winky for Halloween? Woman with baby in pumpkin costume. Cute baby. Ouch. OOUCH. Officer C hugging hurt. Hurt arm. Hurt side.
Sorry, that hurt? I want to take a look, you might have a broken rib. Can you breathe okay? Can you take a deep breath?
Yes. No. Wait. Let me try. Ouch. Swut. My asthma inhaler. Handbag. In. There. Stolen.
(expletive expletive racial slur)’ll get fix money for that inhaler.Okay, really, C, I know you’re mad and you’re helping me but I mean, you know, racial slurs hurt everyone. Don't you guys have sensitivity training or something?
Really?
Yeah. They have street value, kids huff them. Get high.
On asthma...
Yeah. They can put other stuff in there, too.
Oh. Yeah. Right. Of course. Didn’t think. Don’t do drugs.
Got a bunch of good descriptions, seven witnesses in 20 feet, two other victims and a crowd who saw it from up there. Officer P pointing to balcony. Sounds like Hulk strikes again.Is he telling me this or officer C or the crowd? Should i say something? I saw him, too.
Big guy. Acting homeless. And drunk. Or stoned. Big, fat guy.
That’s what they do, act homeless and harmless. But they’re fine. They move fast. This guy’s bad, we call him Hulk. Fat and violent.
But it’s the middle of the afternoon! It’s light out! Woman with pumpkin baby speaks.
Doesn’t matter to this guy or a lot of other guys. If it hadn’t been her. Points at me. It would have been you points at pumpkin baby’s mother, or you (points at another woman) or you (points at a woman dressed as a cowgirl) or you (points at cowgirl’s companion, a guy dressed as the First Nations Indigenous Person from Village People). Gasps all around. You all think this is a good neighborhood. It’s not. It’s one of the worst in the city for this type of crime. These guys know you’re here, they know you’ve got money, they know you think you’re safe and they want you and they get you. It’s getting worse around here. More attacks and more violent. You got to report anything. Call us when you see anyone who don’t look right. Me and C are here all the time, you tell us when you see someone suspicious, we’ll deal with them.
He’s giving a lecture like on bad cop shows. Wow. This is like on NYPD. Or Starsky and Hutch. Or something. I didn’t know they really do that. Maybe it’s just Officer P. He’s really into his job. Good thing. Like that. Good cop. Nice guy. Wouldn’t want to tangle with him. Muscles. Lots of muscles. Saying a bunch of stuff.
Officer C asking me a ton of questions. Trying to concentrate. People all around the car looking in at me. I’m not an animal. I’m the victim of an assault. Why do they want to see me? People are sick. Officer C getting out of the car. Alone. Me. Suddenly scared. Really scared. Shaking. I’m so scared I’m shaking. Not like me. Not like me at all. Mum. Just all too much. Not now. Can’t handle this. Knew more bad things were going to happen. Knew it. Had my guard up. Instincts on high alert. Saw the guy. Knew he was trouble. Tried to get away. Didn’t work. Hurt those guys who tried to help me. Big mean guy. Alive. We’re all alive. No gun. No knife. We’re okay.
We’re going to take you home and we can fill out the rest of the report there. Okay?
Yeah. Okay. Thanks.
Shutting me in the back seat. Alone. Locked in. Safe here. Don’t want to leave. Maybe I can just ride around with the officers C and P. Getting in the car. Officer P talking to people.
You okay back there?officer C is really nice.
Yeah. No. Yes. I mean. You know.
Yeah. I know.
He does know. He’s not just saying that.
Officer P. In car. Driving. Talking to me from through the rear view mirror. Get you home safe. We’ll get that (expletive expletive expletiving racial slur) and (expletiving) make him pay for this.
Smile of appreciation. Ouch that hurts.
You got a husband or boyfriend?Oh great, now I have to look even more pathetic.
Sigh. No.
You live alone?
Yes.
You got a dog?
No.
You got mace?
Yeah.
D’ju use it?
No. (sigh) Dropped it.
Always happens. Guns too. Guys carry guns then drop them or shoot themselves.
Huh.
These guys know you’re not used to using it. D’he pinch your wrist?
Yes.
Hulk, man, he knows all the tricks.
He’s a pro. Gonna (expletive expletiving) kill the (expletiving racial slur) when I get my hands on him.
Um, boys thanks and everything but maybe you should save this conversation for later when the victim is not in the backseat of your squad car.
Pulling up to building.
You own or rent?
More proof of patheticness.Rent.
Home. Officer P double parking in front of my building. Lots of people around. More people staring at me. Can’t get out of the car. Oh yeah. Squad car. Back seat. Locked in. Duh. Officer C opening the door for me.
Out. Ouch. Ankle. Hurt. Arm. Side. Ouch. Wrist. Ouch. Officer C helping me. Officer P casing the street around my building. Talking on walkie talkie thing.
Keys out. Ouch.
Into lobby. Officer C and P following me. Apartment kind of a mess. Furry Creature. Want Furry Creature. Up the stairs. Hear him meowing.
All these stairs, walk ups. You okay on that ankle?
Yeah. Did it last year in a cast and crutches.
No (expletive). Really?
Yes. No choice.
How’d you break your leg?
Other ankle. Got mugged.And the icing on the pathetic cake is applied.
No (expletiving expletive)?
No (expletive.)
Here?
Downtown, Washington subway station. Rush hour.
(Long string of expletives) from both officers C and P.
Then over on (street by apartment) a few weeks later while I was waiting for the bus. On crutches.Might as well just complete the Pathetic Quintfecta.
This neighborhood, man, it’s getting worse.
Yes I think so, too.
Out of breath. Hard to climb all these stairs now. Hurt. Hard to breathe. Furry Creature meowing. Almost there. Keys. Enter. Officers C and P right behind. Into living rom. Maybe they won’t notice the rest of the place.
Officer P on walkie talkie thing. Furry Creature doesn’t like squawking. Running into bedroom.
Cute kitty. I got two, one looks like that.Officer C. C. Cat. Huh. The cop with the cats.Let’s have a look at that side of yours.
Take off coat. Ouch. Lift shirt and sweater. Ouch. He’s barely touching me and it hurts.
Nasty bruise. Looks like a fracture. You better get to a doctor. Lessee that ankle.
I kicked him really hard, at least twice, got him twice in the, um, you know (motioning to crotch). When he tried to pull me into the alley. I kicked him. He didn’t even flinch. He pulled me harder and I had my other foot dug hard into the ground and he pulled me so hard it twisted my ankle.
He’s high on something, he’ll feel it tomorrow or when he sobers up. You did good. We’ll look for a big (expletive expletiving racial slur) walkin’ funny. (Officer P thinks this is really funny. C and P laugh hardily) Hopefully you got him hard enough so he won’t make babies like him.
My gift to humanity.
Hey, that ain’t bad. No kid of that (expletiving expletive) is going to turn out good. If you got him hard enough we won’t have to deal with his kids. If they’d just cut it off (making scissor finger motion) when we take these guys in we would stop a lot of problems in the future. (C and P laugh hardily) Lessee that ankle.
(Never heard a guy say that. Huh.) Take off shoe. Clunk. Ouch. Sock off. Cripes. Swollen. Bruised. Ouch.
Oh yeah, that’s gonna hurt for a while. You really fought and stood firm. Good for you. Lessee your arm.
Sweater off. T-shirt. Oh (expletive). Hand and finger shaped bruise wrapping around upper arm.
Officer C is yelling. Loud. Neighbors. (expletiving expletive) I’m gonna (expletiving) kill that (expletiving expletive racial slur racial slur expletiving comment on society)
Come on officer C, not in front of the c-a-t. Tomorrow. Call doctor tomorrow.
You got someone to stay with tonight?
Yes. No. Maybe. Yes.
I don’t think you have a concussion, but you should get that rib and ankle looked at.
Yeah. Okay. Thanks.
You don’t want to be alone, get a friend or relative to come over.
(expletiving expletiver) stole your movies for tonight.
Yeah. Oh well. Just Elvira and a chick flick. (Nice guys but is the foul language right or necessary? This is starting to sound like that one Seinfeld episode where George hangs out with the guys who swear.)
Oh man, I love Elvira!
Yeah. She’s great. (Officer C poking and twisting ankle) Ow. Ouch. (Okay, C, really, that hurts. Stop it.)
Squawk. Squawk. In progress. Squawk.
Hey, C, you about finished? 43 needs back-up.
You okay?
Oh, me? yeah.
Here’s my name and the precinct number, call the precinct if you need more help. Here’s a copy of your incident sheet. This is your report number, you’re gonna need that for your bank and stuff. Keep this copy. A detective will handle the paperwork and call you in a week or two and the report will be mailed to you. Call the precinct if you don’t hear anything in a week.
Okay. Thanks.
We gonna get that (expletiving expletive racial slur expletiving comment on society), I promise you that, we’re gonna get him.
Okay. Thanks. I mean really, thanks for everything. You guys are great. Thank you for getting there so fast and bringing me home and everything.
Wish we cudda got him, you cudda seen justice in action. We’ll call you when we get him.
Okay. Great. Thanks. I mean really, thank you. Really. Thank you both.
S’ar job. Shudda got the (expletiver).
He’s surprisingly fast and agile. Slippery.
We’ll get him. Bye cute kitty. (Officer C petting Furry Creature’s timidly curious head poking around bedroom door) You take care of your mommy. She’s gonna need lots of cuddles tonight.
