I've recently come to the conclusion that not only was I a vital part of the application of the fifth amendment, but I was there to provide comfort, not in the way that I sit there and listen to sob stories, but with a nod of my head and a slight smile I give them hope that they can get through whatever bad news they've just received.
And then I met Lois. Lois is your standard overweight Rent-a-Cop. As a writer I feel it's my duty to not reduce people to stereotypes, one of the best ways to do this is to imagine how people start their days. So here it is:
I imagine Lois wakes up every morning and turns on her air conditioner, you see it gets pretty hot in the seventh circle of Hell where Lois lives. She breakfasts on a cereal of dreams deferred and children's tears, feeds her thirteen black cats, and then gets on her broom and flies to work.
I pulled into the fascist community of Canyon Lake after driving for an hour from my little Californian hamlet. I presented my id and was told that I had to present myself at the front office so I could be escorted in because Canyon Lake is a "private community" (a phrase I would grow to despise.)
This is where I met Lois. When I met Lois she must have been coming off of her drug high (Lois freebases the screams of the innocent you see) and she was in quite a mood. She turned her crazed eyes in my direction and said, "We're going to need to see your server ID if you want to serve." I of course don't have my served ID yet because I have not registered, but I am legally allowed to serve a small amount under my fabulous boss's number.
Lois would hear none of it. Not even my protestations that I had driven an hour to get to this oppressive mini-state that Francisco Franco would disapprove of. I told Lois that I would have to call my boss. I went out to my parking spot outside the office and dialed the boss. Before I could complete my call another Rent-a-Cop came up and told me I wasn't allowed to be parked there and that I would have to move my car across the street, out of the "private community."
Once my dangerous self was moved to the front of a bank across the street of innocent, fragile Canyon Lake, I called my uncle, who recently graduated from Pepperdine Law School. The uncle set his fingers to find some legal jargon I could yell at them. The jargon came in the form of the court case "Robert Bein vs. Brechtel-Jochim," which says that if a security guard refuses to let you into a gated community, you can serve the security guard.
Armed with this information, I returned to dearest Lois. I walked up to the office with the documents in tow. I smiled (all of us who have grown up in suburbia know the power of passive aggression, and that sometimes, saying "You're right" annoys people way more than saying "You're wrong.") I informed Lois that if she would not let me into the naive, virginal community of Canyon Lake, I would have to serve her. Lois thought she could outfox me, she said I could serve her but that it wouldn't do any good. I said that would be all right, all I would need was her full name.
This is where we hit a snag. Lois didn't want to give me her name (you see, I wasn't aware of Lois's name up to this point.) And I informed her that she would face fines if she didn't. Lois informed me that she wouldn't and I informed her that indeed she would.
Lois picked up the phone and dialed the sheriff. Yes, the sheriff. However, in the course of the call, Lois is required to give her name, and that is where I learned it. Lois, L-O-I-S, four glorious letters. And I just sit there smiling. "He's on his way." Lois says with a slight smirk, "Excellent." I reply with my suburban, good-natured, heavens-I-want-to-rip-your-throat-out smile.
The sheriff comes and I explain the situation. He informs me he can't make Lois give me her full name, I inform him that it was not I who called.
The supervisor comes in and I begin to really appreciate the chaos that I am causing. I begin to be treated as if I had came in and defecated all over Lois's desk, when I just wanted to make sure due process of law was carried out. I look at the supervisor and inform him that I can see I'm making no progress, and I will take my leave. (I actually said take my leave, the more pissed off I am the more formal I get because I know it pisses the other people off.)
I 411ed the couple I was supposed to serve and left a message informing them that I had "an altercation with the security of their community and that I would need them to set up a time for me to meet with them."
In the end, I was glad to see the end of the whole ordeal. I was happy to return to my hometown where I feel perfectly safe without security worthy of the Gaza Strip.
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