May It Please The Court

Sodomy is now the law of the land, but like other precious freedoms it could be lost unless we citizens make the most of it. All patriotic Americans are hereby urged to track down a consenting adult of the same or opposite sex and shout out: "Hey! How about you and me hooking up for some newly-legalized oral and/or anal intercourse?"

-Ted Rall

So I arrived late to work today, having spent the morning at two separate dealerships having my throttle adjusted (and yes: the engine light is STILL on), only to find our building surrounded by police cars. It was a scene that admittedly fell somewhat short of the Blues Brothers, but it was nonetheless alarming.

Now, I must pause here to add the obligatory disclaimer that some of my very best friends are boys in blue (out there every day on the front lines puttin' the serve in "to protect and to serve"), BUT I must also confess that I did hesitate for a second at the spectacle, questioning every possible permutation of the purpose of their visit-while halfheartedly contemplating the idea that I could oh so easily drive right past. And just keep on going.

Curiosity getting the better of me, however, I decided a closer inspection was warranted.

All I was told initially by a staffer was that one of my colleagues was up front, giving a statement to the officers, about an "incident."

Once I learned nobody was hurt and nothing had been stolen, I settled down at my desk with my morning caffeine.

Over lunch, the real story emerged.

Turns out, one of our department heads, having arrived early, was interrupted by a persistent thumping against our front door.

On inspection, he tells me, it turned out to be a legless crackhead who was seeking directions as to where he could purchase cigarettes.

(Not wanting to indulge in bigotry, I asked for more specifics as to how the crackhead designation was earned, and was given a broad and varied education as to their speech patterns, mannerisms, and how they differ from drunks. For example, I'm told, crackheads commonly have worse teeth, but smell better than drunks, and that, apparently, has something to do with poor personal hygiene pertaining to drunks and vomit. Again, I don't mean to stereotype, and should volunteer that I myself know some very tidy, well-kempt drunks, who would never dream of throwing up in public.)

My colleague directed our visitor to a nearby market/tobacconist, whereupon the guest asked him, "Think I can hold two dollars?"

(Unfamiliar with this vernacular, I asked for a translation. I was told this constituted a request for a loan of two dollars. For example, you might ask a friend, "Think I can hold this CD?" which would mean you enjoy his musical selection, and would like to borrow it.)

The request for Marlboro money was followed by "Swear to God, I will pay you back man," in turn followed by several repeated variations along this same theme.

My kind-hearted coworker (an occasional smoker himself) handed over two bucks, along with his assurances that no repayment would be necessary, and at this point, I'm told, they "exchanged daps" or as clarified by another coworker, "you know, taters." (This consists of tapping two fists together in a light, hammering motion.)

Assuming their transaction was complete, my coworker turned back to his desk to resume his work, at which point, Quick Jaw McGraw made an additional proposition.

The graphic nature of his offer of oral gratification really can't be quoted precisely and explicitly in any publication regularly read by my parents...but let's just say that, thanks to the recent Supreme Court ruling, what he was suggesting is now thoroughly legal in all 52 states, among consenting adults, regardless of orientation (presumably providing no fees are attached, so Hugh Grant would still be wise to keep it zipped).

My colleague, obviously taken aback, was momentarily rendered speechless while-he tells me-he was trying to process exactly what the guy meant. He wasn't entertaining the prospect, mind you, just deciphering. Was this a simple, heartfelt gesture of gratitude? Or was it a proffer, i.e., fee for service? As he wondered aloud later, "maybe this was just his way of saying thank you? You know, he wanted to help me out?"

Pierced on the horns of a dilemma-not wanting to seem hurtful, or dismissive of our visitor's obviously difficult lot in life, while still forcefully asserting an outright rejection-I think the eventual response was something along the lines of "WHAT????!!!!" followed by, "uhhhh. No man. I'm good."

Although I did point out to everyone at lunch, this is the only staff member who has a desk with a hydraulic lift (Crouching Colleague, Hidden Hummer).

I'm sure this all made for a very dramatic, traumatic morning. Which would explain why they all have their noses pressed wistfully to the glass in the front office, hoping for a glimpse of our new friend, occasionally shouting out a fond, "Holla...!"