The rascal in me takes up far too much land mass. A rageaholic topic erupts like “Defund The Police” and a sly half-smirk tilts the corners of a smile. Defund? I’m not a big fan of messing with other people’s salaries. Cops have families and have to buy things like Post-it Notes and tattoos, baby formula and college books.
That’s not to say I don’t have issues with local law enforcement.
Take the SClarita Sheriff’s Station motto, for example.
I wouldn’t mind seeing our local gendarmes change their annoying slogan so visible on prowl car doors. I never cared much for “Proudly Serving Santa Clarita.” It comes dangerously close to sounding like something Uber Eats would say. Worse, there’s the truth in advertising aspect. I’ve had my run-ins with the SClarita Sheriff’s Station. Not once have they pulled up and offered a satisfactory answer to my ongoing question: “So. Where’s my pizza?”
Proudly serving a lot of empty, pizza-less promises.
If it were up to me, I’d change our lawmen’s, lawwomen’s and lawmen-ettes’ motto to: “I Know You Are — But What Am I?”
Wouldn’t that be distracting for criminals and spousal abusists to see that stenciled on a cop car door? It’d save bullets. As misanthropes stare at the slogan, silently mouthing the words, they’re too distracted to defend themselves. At the very least, it would be entertaining in hostage situations.
“I’M GOING TO BLOW UP THE CONJOINED CAMERON SMYTH/ZSA ZSU PITTS BRONZE SADDLE ON THE WESTERN WALK OF STARS UNTIL TACO BELL BRINGS BACK THE ENCHIRITO!!!” a crazed mad bomber screams in Downtown Newhall.
Due to downsizing, the crazed individual is surrounded by one sheriff’s deputy on a Schwinn. The lawman in the spandex bike shorts, lion tamer boots and brown Maytag repairman shirt raises a bullhorn and calmly says:
“I Know You Are — But What Am I?”
After several hundred exchanges, the terrorist screams he can’t take it anymore and falls on his head as many times as necessary. An armada of rainbow-colored city of SClarita Community Wellness Outreach Vans screeches around the corner, scoops up the poor victim, hands him 74 pounds of fliers, starts a mobile lawsuit against the bicycle Inspector Clousseau, erects a statue of the victim then organizes a candlelight vigil and an Awareness Parade for Crazy Lives Matter.
Personally, being Somewhat Crazy, I can attest — they do.
And, to further clarify in the spirit of wokeness?
MY Crazy Life Matters.
Not so much.
But let’s not be hard-headed.
There are always solutions where money can be saved.
For example, learning a lesson from the recent SCV Cholera Quarantine, we could have everyone at the SCV Sheriff’s Station work from home. Heavens. What a beautiful job. Is it too late in life for me to enroll in the academy, where all the training is now online?
I get up in the morning. Turn on my computer. Log into the Virtual Sheriff’s Department. It bids me good morning and asks: “So John. Honor system, no fibbing now — did you run your 10 miles and do your 1,500 push-ups this morning? Mind you, if you’re a woman, minority, lisper, hunchback, midget or Episcopalian, don’t you worry your pretty little head.”
Taking a sip of tea, I purse my lips and lie: “Yup. Ran 10 miles, pushed 1,500 push-ups. Extra Credit: saved a college co-ed from being triggered by cupping my hands over her ears and going ‘LA-LA-LA-LA-LA-LA-LA-LA-LA-LA!!!’ really loud.” Then, I answer the day’s one multiple-choice question:
QUESTION: You’re texting a serial killer. Choose the most appropriate response:
A) Yell: “Get out of the car with your hands where I can see them.”
B) Politely ask: “Stay in the car and put your hands between your thighs so they won’t get cold.”
C) Firmly request: “Using the harsh spotlight we’re providing, make a cute bunny shadow. We’re starved for entertainment.”
D) Using sound effects of artillery firing as an attachment, tell the suspect to save you both some time and just beat himself thoroughly.
After three long days of training, I’m now a sergeant where my days start with me logging into the computer at 7:58 and typing: “Move along. There’s nothing to see here.”
Then stretch and clock out at 7:59.
With a schedule like that, I could pull off hundreds of shifts daily, retire and buy a solid gold RV.
While I’m on Permanent Vacation and out of Wi-Fi range, what if things get worse in our riparian Garden of Eden? Who will people call? Zonta? SCV La Leche League? Ghostbusters? Will things get so bad we’ll have to …
(Cue ominous Bach toccata organ music…)
Deputize The Skateboarders!?!?!?!?
How do we, as a community, come together when invaded by screaming business burners, old lady shovers, tennis shoe looters and squadrons of 110-pound mutts in designer Nazi SS jogging outfits?
I’d like to see our SClarita Sheriff’s Station, the one that doesn’t deliver pizza, be issued unbreakable 5-pound glass batons.
That way, when they’re thoroughly beating someone from Antifa, on the videos afterward, it just looks like they’re scolding — “No no no no — NO!!!!”
John Boston is a local writer with lots and lots of awards. If you disagree with this or any other of his trenchant think pieces, please call and listen to the “I Know You Are But What Am I?” repeating loop on his message machine.