My husband’s job has changed considerably in the past couple
of years. While he was once a street cop with lots of interaction with the
public (read: long hours on patrol) he is now at a desk more often than not.
He’s still saving the world in his own way, but lunch is more often eaten at a
desk versus behind the wheel of a car.
I often chide him about going out for lunch. I say all the
things a wife has been known to say: you should take a break, get time away
from the computer, get some fresh air, etc.
“It’s just not worth it.” He says, and then proceeds to
explain to me why. It cuts into his time to actually eat lunch and breathe a
little; by the time he heads outside, stands on line, grabs lunch…you get the
picture. He also insists that he always gets approached by the public. They ask
questions, ask for directions, or worse…they need Police help…and at that
point, he’s just a hungry guy trying to grab a bite to eat.
I get it.
However I really
got it the other day when I was in Midtown Manhattan. For those of you
unfamiliar with NYC, Midtown is where all the stuff you see on TV is located:
the Empire State building, Times Square, et al. I was walking from the East
Side over to the West Side and had just decided to pop into a Chipotle for a
quick Mexican fix. Side topic: I have mixed emotions about Chipotle to begin
with, because of reported incidents about the way they threat Law Enforcement
Officers. Since I haven’t experienced any of their prejudice firsthand, I will
still eat there for the time being.
That said…I was craving guacamole.
So I
grabbed my bowl and saddled up to a stool facing 42nd Street. As I
was pulling off my various layers of clothing, I noticed the guy next to me
shoot me a side glance, and I nodded. Us Native New Yorkers tend to give a
half-smile/side glance/I’m checking-you-out-but-don’t-want-you-to-know thing
and call it a day. This all happens in nanoseconds.
I think nothing of him.
A few forkfuls in, he turns toward me and says, “Are you a
cop?”
I look at him questioningly and then peer down and realize
that I’m wearing an NYPD sweatshirt. I left the house in the usual rush, so I
just threw it on and headed out the door.
“Oh!” I smile and chew. “No…but do you need help?” I figured
if he was a tourist that I can help him get wherever it is that he needed to
go.
“No.” He sneers. “I was just wondering…you know.” He
gestures towards my sweatshirt.
“Oh, yes…my husband’s a cop.” I generally say this with
pride, but I’m starting to feel the little alarm bells going off in my head and
my thoughts turn instantly to the anti-police climate that we currently live
in, as I begin reaching for my phone.
“Yeah…well…I was just wondering, you know…my wife, NO, my ex-wife...” He sneers again as he
crumples his burrito wrapper, “Just had me falsely arrested.”
Oh, here we go…
He proceeds to try and engage me in the details of his
“false arrest” while I shovel food down my throat at the pace of a competitive
eater. I am not sure if he’s unsafe, but he’s rambling, and either way wants to
go on and on about this injustice. I am watching him far more than I am
listening to him, still making all the right noises in the meantime. I am playing
along. At some point, he tilts the conversation toward kids getting busted for
weed, and how cops just like to go after these kids for minuscule amounts of
weed. I am tempted to inform him about how patently false this information is;
that the current administration in New York City can give two shits less about
people smoking pot, openly, on the streets, and how they have even advised cops
to not arrest these menaces to society.
I hold my tongue.
This is a Tuesday at 4 o’clock in the afternoon in Midtown
Manhattan, people. This is not a conversation that’s going down in a scary
section of the City. This is the New Police Culture: where the police are wrong
and the criminals citizens are right.
I manage to extricate myself from this individual and go on
my merry way. I wish him well in his fight, and I even smile at him as I leave.
But as I re-enter the pedestrian traffic flow, I begin to
realize how right my husband is…sometimes it’s just not worth going out to
lunch.
I feel like this is my life everyday! And forget strangers approaching me - even people who know me and my husband have bought into this New Police Culture. And the frustrating thing is - they don't acknowledge they have. I am as proud as it gets when I get to tell people my husband is a cop but it is sad time for us. And much lonelier than ever as we sit at home waiting for them to come through that front door every night (or morning).
ReplyDeleteI hear ya! Most people have no clue as they carry on conversation that they might be offensive, etc.
ReplyDeleteIt's a good thing we have each other...
:) Stella
Thanks for the "Tip for my Daughter" Stella!!
ReplyDeleteI have recommended this site to her, as she is getting married to a NYPD Cop in September.
And, I myself am a Retired NYPD, so you know that "I Get It" :)
Jerry: Thank you for your service. And thanks for passing it on!
ReplyDelete:)
Stella