AK Undercover
So, lately, traffic has been horrendous going home from downtown, and it makes no sense to leave straight from work. Usually, I can hang out in the office, read some Kitchen Confidential, peruse the internets, blogs, twitter, and whatever madness is popular on YouTube at the moment.
But yesterday, I got an itch to take my book to a restaurant bar, have a nice, but reasonably portioned snacky dinner, and let a few glasses of tannins relax my bod, and cradle me into a traffic free future.
Church and State was my first choice, but Daniel, my favorite server wasn't working, and as I drove by at about 5:15, they didn't exactly look open. I was looking to disappear into the background, not stand out, as the only patron, so, I kept driving.
Visions of Coles danced through my mind, but I know that I have no control at a whiskey bar, with all of my beautiful bourbon babies sitting there, staring at me, begging me to take a sip. Waiting out the traffic, then hitting the road after a few, or five shots, was a definite no no.
After driving in circles, and almost giving up, I looked up at a red light, and lo and behold...Yxta called my name. Perfect; healthy, authentic, Mexican food in bite sized portions. So in I went, Kitchen Confidential in hand, ready to suck down a few glasses of red, while waiting for the red on my google maps route to change to green...or even yellow.
The place was packed when I walked in, a perfect crowd for me to hide in, so I made a b-line for the bar, and sat down at the first stool I saw. In no time flat, I had my wine, my snacks, and my nose deep in my paperback. The noise of the crowded saloon hummed and buzzed in the background; a perfect soundtrack to the behind the sinks tales Anthony Bordain's pages told.
Between the older couple to my left, and the gaggle of beefy boys to my right, I had plenty of personal space to relax and get into it. Every once in a while their conversation floated into earshot, and soon enough...I gathered that the boys were law enforcement of some sort, celebrating someone's promotion. And I looked up...and realized...the place was FULL of 'em. I mean, PACKED. Every single person in the place was a thick-necked, hulking, blue-boy. Or in this case, green-boy, because they were sheriffs.
Now, to normal people, this is no big deal. Maybe, even...fun...? A group of rowdier by the minute cowboys, who enforce their own rules, cutting loose on a Tuesday night. Think of all the insight you could get as the tequila loosened up their lips...! All the sexy stories of intrigue and mystery...! But AK, my friends, is a Public Defender. The arch enemy, nay, the nemesis of a law enforcement official. They may hate ruffians, scoundrels, murderers and louts, but I can assure you, that they hate those who work hard to let those scum back onto the street a whole lot more. And here was AK, Deputy Public Defender, in the middle of them all, getting a nice buzz on before getting into the car and driving 40 minutes home.
I was safe in my anonymity, so I buried my nose farther in my spine and tried as hard as I could to block them all out. I checked my phone constantly, updating the real time traffic reports about...oh...every 30 seconds, and never once picked my head, weary of eye contact of any kind. And it worked, for a bit. But as the wine went on, the gaggle of boys started getting bigger and closer, and eventually, one couldn't let my quiet reading go on unencumbered anymore. "HEY, WHAT IS THAT? YEAH, I LOVE TAKING BOOKS TO BARS TOO, I DO IT, LIKE, ALL THE TIME...HEH, HEH, HEH"
damn it I looked up, smiled, even threw out a girly little giggle, and did a "heh...yeah...dorky, I know...just, you know...waiting for traffic to die down" and went right back into it.
And it went that way for a little bit...I'd read a few pages, then the boys would interrupt my flow a few minutes later...we'd exchange niceties, and I'd go back to my book. I checked my google map, sighed..and ordered another glass of red. They offered to buy my drink, I politely declined. They invited me into their conversation, I smiled, and said I was just trying to read and relax. They asked if I was reading a book about cooking because I was some sort of chef...I said no...they asked if I was in school...and when I took a deep breath and said "um...no...", I braced for the inevitable...but miraculously, they let me brush off the "what DO you do question" and didn't seem to notice at all that I changed the subject without answering.
After a few glasses, even I started to loosen up, and let them distract me for a while. The ratio of pages read to words exchanged started favoring the coppers a lot more. We chit-chatted, mostly about whether my wedding ring really meant that I was taken, how much a restaurant tab on a date with me would cost, how I knew enough about burbon to make fun of them for ordering Jack when Blantons was sitting on the shelf...you know, real classy topics.
After a little while, I excused myself to use the ladies room, wriggled out from my mile high barstool, and snaked my way through the crowd. And, while I was washing my hands, I noticed something...I was actually...kinda having fun... Yeah, I hate these guys on a regular basis at work, but what the hell, I was stuck here for a while, and they were pretty entertaining to knock back a few with, especially once you have a good buzz on. So, I took a deep breath, decided that it was okay to actually put the book away, just for another...what...half hour at the most...? and I made my way back out to the party.
As I turned the corner from the bathroom back to the bar, my path was cut off in no uncertain terms by a burly, broaaaaaad shouldered 50sish copper-type with a beat to hell nose and lilac shirtsleeves. "Ma'am," he stared down at me with eyes that knew how to scare the shit out of you. I smiled the "I wasn't speeding/weaving/talking on the phone/reaching for my purse, officer..!!!" girly default and waited. "Ma'am...while you were in there..." he looked and nodded towards the restroom "we all realized where we recognized you from".
shit...SHIT...SHIT SHIT SHIT...what the fuuuuuck is he talking about...? do they really recognize me from court...there's no possible wa....OH SHIT. I looked over at the bar and realized it. There was the rat, bright black and yellow, face down on the bar top. Anthony Bordain sold me out.
You see, I take my book with me everywhere...which oftentimes means I'm bouncing around from court to court, leaving a trail of my belongings along the way. many times I've lost a prized possession while covering someone's calender, and can't for the life of me remember where I was when I lost whatever it was that had vanished. So, it's imperative that I mark my territory with the appropriate return-to labels lest they get lost. Which, in this case meant that, in bold type, inside the front cover of my book, were the words: "Please return to Public Defender's Office if found-AK"
I giggled a whispery, nervous, half drunk snicker and pushed out a weak "...hhhh..yyyou don't recognize mehhhhh...." he cut me off and said, very...well...man-ly "MA'AM...PLEASE TELL US THAT YOU DO NOT WORK FOR THE PUBLIC DEFENDER'S OFFICE". Now...you don't know me, but I'll tell you right now: I can't lie. Especially when I'm in trouble. I just can't do it. I giggle, I turn red, I can't stop smiling, and, well, mostly, I giggle. A lot. So instead I said "WELL AREN'T YOU GLAD I DIDN'T LET YOU BUY ME THOSE DRINKS, NOW!?!?" and pushed my way back to my spot at the bar amid a chorus of "HEY! SHE'S A PD!" "SHE'S A PUBLIC DEFENDER!" and a lot of "well...well..."s.
I checked the traffic, hoping to God to get a green light...but, alas, it was red. Still. Goddamnit. Well, the crowd had turned, and my hopes of blending into the wallpaper had not only failed, but, a semi-truck just crashed into the wall I had been hiding in, and i was expoooooooosed.
So, for the next half hour, I suffered the slings and arrows of outrageous interrogation "how can you do what you do", "why do you hate all of us", "when are you leaving and going to the DA's office", "how do you look your father in the face"...and JUST when I thought I couldn't take another minute...GREEN!!! The 60 Freeway was GREEN!!! and just like that, I was off "thank you very much gentlemen, sorry if I hurt your feelings, nice chatting with you, I'm OFF!!!" "NOT SO FAST..." the lilac-ioed captain blocked my path again. "Listen...you're going to make this up to us" he said. "um...what...?" "Tuesday. Tuesday at noon. You're going to let Detective Noe over here give you a tour of the jail. You hear me?" I thought about it for the second...I have always wanted a tour of the jail, to see firsthand what my clients deal with every day, and I've never been able to get in on any of our office tours... "wait...you want to set up a jail tour for me?" "Yep. Tuesday. You're going. Got it?" "...um...well...yes, Sir... Thanks...?" "you got it, kid. You'll see...we're not so bad..." and he patted me on the back and sent me on my way.
So, ladies and gents...all's well that ends well...right...? And if I suddenly go missing Tuesday afternoon...don't call 911...I have a feeling they'll already know.
But yesterday, I got an itch to take my book to a restaurant bar, have a nice, but reasonably portioned snacky dinner, and let a few glasses of tannins relax my bod, and cradle me into a traffic free future.
Church and State was my first choice, but Daniel, my favorite server wasn't working, and as I drove by at about 5:15, they didn't exactly look open. I was looking to disappear into the background, not stand out, as the only patron, so, I kept driving.
Visions of Coles danced through my mind, but I know that I have no control at a whiskey bar, with all of my beautiful bourbon babies sitting there, staring at me, begging me to take a sip. Waiting out the traffic, then hitting the road after a few, or five shots, was a definite no no.
After driving in circles, and almost giving up, I looked up at a red light, and lo and behold...Yxta called my name. Perfect; healthy, authentic, Mexican food in bite sized portions. So in I went, Kitchen Confidential in hand, ready to suck down a few glasses of red, while waiting for the red on my google maps route to change to green...or even yellow.
The place was packed when I walked in, a perfect crowd for me to hide in, so I made a b-line for the bar, and sat down at the first stool I saw. In no time flat, I had my wine, my snacks, and my nose deep in my paperback. The noise of the crowded saloon hummed and buzzed in the background; a perfect soundtrack to the behind the sinks tales Anthony Bordain's pages told.
Between the older couple to my left, and the gaggle of beefy boys to my right, I had plenty of personal space to relax and get into it. Every once in a while their conversation floated into earshot, and soon enough...I gathered that the boys were law enforcement of some sort, celebrating someone's promotion. And I looked up...and realized...the place was FULL of 'em. I mean, PACKED. Every single person in the place was a thick-necked, hulking, blue-boy. Or in this case, green-boy, because they were sheriffs.
Now, to normal people, this is no big deal. Maybe, even...fun...? A group of rowdier by the minute cowboys, who enforce their own rules, cutting loose on a Tuesday night. Think of all the insight you could get as the tequila loosened up their lips...! All the sexy stories of intrigue and mystery...! But AK, my friends, is a Public Defender. The arch enemy, nay, the nemesis of a law enforcement official. They may hate ruffians, scoundrels, murderers and louts, but I can assure you, that they hate those who work hard to let those scum back onto the street a whole lot more. And here was AK, Deputy Public Defender, in the middle of them all, getting a nice buzz on before getting into the car and driving 40 minutes home.
I was safe in my anonymity, so I buried my nose farther in my spine and tried as hard as I could to block them all out. I checked my phone constantly, updating the real time traffic reports about...oh...every 30 seconds, and never once picked my head, weary of eye contact of any kind. And it worked, for a bit. But as the wine went on, the gaggle of boys started getting bigger and closer, and eventually, one couldn't let my quiet reading go on unencumbered anymore. "HEY, WHAT IS THAT? YEAH, I LOVE TAKING BOOKS TO BARS TOO, I DO IT, LIKE, ALL THE TIME...HEH, HEH, HEH"
damn it I looked up, smiled, even threw out a girly little giggle, and did a "heh...yeah...dorky, I know...just, you know...waiting for traffic to die down" and went right back into it.
And it went that way for a little bit...I'd read a few pages, then the boys would interrupt my flow a few minutes later...we'd exchange niceties, and I'd go back to my book. I checked my google map, sighed..and ordered another glass of red. They offered to buy my drink, I politely declined. They invited me into their conversation, I smiled, and said I was just trying to read and relax. They asked if I was reading a book about cooking because I was some sort of chef...I said no...they asked if I was in school...and when I took a deep breath and said "um...no...", I braced for the inevitable...but miraculously, they let me brush off the "what DO you do question" and didn't seem to notice at all that I changed the subject without answering.
After a few glasses, even I started to loosen up, and let them distract me for a while. The ratio of pages read to words exchanged started favoring the coppers a lot more. We chit-chatted, mostly about whether my wedding ring really meant that I was taken, how much a restaurant tab on a date with me would cost, how I knew enough about burbon to make fun of them for ordering Jack when Blantons was sitting on the shelf...you know, real classy topics.
After a little while, I excused myself to use the ladies room, wriggled out from my mile high barstool, and snaked my way through the crowd. And, while I was washing my hands, I noticed something...I was actually...kinda having fun... Yeah, I hate these guys on a regular basis at work, but what the hell, I was stuck here for a while, and they were pretty entertaining to knock back a few with, especially once you have a good buzz on. So, I took a deep breath, decided that it was okay to actually put the book away, just for another...what...half hour at the most...? and I made my way back out to the party.
As I turned the corner from the bathroom back to the bar, my path was cut off in no uncertain terms by a burly, broaaaaaad shouldered 50sish copper-type with a beat to hell nose and lilac shirtsleeves. "Ma'am," he stared down at me with eyes that knew how to scare the shit out of you. I smiled the "I wasn't speeding/weaving/talking on the phone/reaching for my purse, officer..!!!" girly default and waited. "Ma'am...while you were in there..." he looked and nodded towards the restroom "we all realized where we recognized you from".
shit...SHIT...SHIT SHIT SHIT...what the fuuuuuck is he talking about...? do they really recognize me from court...there's no possible wa....OH SHIT. I looked over at the bar and realized it. There was the rat, bright black and yellow, face down on the bar top. Anthony Bordain sold me out.
You see, I take my book with me everywhere...which oftentimes means I'm bouncing around from court to court, leaving a trail of my belongings along the way. many times I've lost a prized possession while covering someone's calender, and can't for the life of me remember where I was when I lost whatever it was that had vanished. So, it's imperative that I mark my territory with the appropriate return-to labels lest they get lost. Which, in this case meant that, in bold type, inside the front cover of my book, were the words: "Please return to Public Defender's Office if found-AK"
I giggled a whispery, nervous, half drunk snicker and pushed out a weak "...hhhh..yyyou don't recognize mehhhhh...." he cut me off and said, very...well...man-ly "MA'AM...PLEASE TELL US THAT YOU DO NOT WORK FOR THE PUBLIC DEFENDER'S OFFICE". Now...you don't know me, but I'll tell you right now: I can't lie. Especially when I'm in trouble. I just can't do it. I giggle, I turn red, I can't stop smiling, and, well, mostly, I giggle. A lot. So instead I said "WELL AREN'T YOU GLAD I DIDN'T LET YOU BUY ME THOSE DRINKS, NOW!?!?" and pushed my way back to my spot at the bar amid a chorus of "HEY! SHE'S A PD!" "SHE'S A PUBLIC DEFENDER!" and a lot of "well...well..."s.
I checked the traffic, hoping to God to get a green light...but, alas, it was red. Still. Goddamnit. Well, the crowd had turned, and my hopes of blending into the wallpaper had not only failed, but, a semi-truck just crashed into the wall I had been hiding in, and i was expoooooooosed.
So, for the next half hour, I suffered the slings and arrows of outrageous interrogation "how can you do what you do", "why do you hate all of us", "when are you leaving and going to the DA's office", "how do you look your father in the face"...and JUST when I thought I couldn't take another minute...GREEN!!! The 60 Freeway was GREEN!!! and just like that, I was off "thank you very much gentlemen, sorry if I hurt your feelings, nice chatting with you, I'm OFF!!!" "NOT SO FAST..." the lilac-ioed captain blocked my path again. "Listen...you're going to make this up to us" he said. "um...what...?" "Tuesday. Tuesday at noon. You're going to let Detective Noe over here give you a tour of the jail. You hear me?" I thought about it for the second...I have always wanted a tour of the jail, to see firsthand what my clients deal with every day, and I've never been able to get in on any of our office tours... "wait...you want to set up a jail tour for me?" "Yep. Tuesday. You're going. Got it?" "...um...well...yes, Sir... Thanks...?" "you got it, kid. You'll see...we're not so bad..." and he patted me on the back and sent me on my way.
So, ladies and gents...all's well that ends well...right...? And if I suddenly go missing Tuesday afternoon...don't call 911...I have a feeling they'll already know.
posted by AK at
6:18 PM
1 Comments:
That's pretty funny. It's the same reason I don't tell people I work for **&*.
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