Welcome to my little ol' blog. I'll be upfront about it: I don't blog very often any more. If you found your way here because you read my book "Trailer Life," have a gander! But it's easier to keep up with me on Instagram or on my Facebook page. I have this long, drawn out theory on why I'm a terrible blogger, but that is a story for another day. Enjoy the ramblings of my life from the last 8 years or so.
Monday, December 1, 2008
Why I could NEVER do this for a job
I was forwarded a link to a blog by a girl I don't even know, but she lives in my hometown and was complaining about/hatin' cops. Basically, when she drives down the street at 15mph to get her kid from the bus stop, her three year old sometimes doesn't sit in a seat, or sits in the front seat. Not that big of a deal, except that a chippie picks his kid up at the same time (off duty) and gives her dirty looks. (The thing that makes me gag the most about the post was that she says not to judge her for not putting her kid in a seat all the time, but then she rags on the cop for the looks because he's perfected parenting... um, about the judgement thing???) But anyway, this guy tried to catch her doing it again while he was on duty, and it didn't work out for him. It sounds like he was totally going after her. And most people commenting are like "Doesn't he have anything better to do?" Than what? His job? I clarified that they do not get paid with taxpayers money, but rather DMV registration fees. And really, MOST CHP's are so anal about seat belts. But for a good reason. It's all fun and games until someone's brains pop out of their head. Or they are air lifted to a hospital with major injuries because they took their seat belt off for just a minute. And seeing little kids being injured really disturbs them. I have heard MANY stories, and been sheltered from just as many, in the last nine years. Just saying. Everyone hates cops until they need them. I could never be a cop because: I don't like people hating me. I don't like smelly people with bad teeth. I don't like to drive that much. I don't like blood or crying people or brains on my pants. (Seriously, washing someone else's blood out of your husbands pants before the stain sets is not cool.) So, the next time the fuzz pull you over for not obeying the laws of the land, just deal with the consequences of your choices. They'll be there to put your femur bone back in your thigh, or your brains in your head.