Sunday Morning At The Cactus League:
Scottsdale PD: License and Registration, please.
Me: How fast was I going, Officer?
SPD: Are those whiskeys you people have? I smell whiskey.
Me: It’s okay. They aren’t Hiram Walker products, just Crown and sodas.
SPD: How many open containers are in this car?
Me: None of them are mine.
SPD: It is nine-thirty in the morning! How many open containers do you people have?
Me: They are not really germane to how fast I was going. We are on our way to the game and are in a hurry. I have to find a barber.
SPD: The game isn’t for hours!
Me: We need to get to get to the bar to get our heads right, and I have to find a barber.
SPD: You can’t drink in a car in Arizona.
Me: That is why we are going to a bar. The Blue Moose is calling!
Entire car (along Brian Fallon on the radio): I still love Tom Petty songs/And driving old men crazy/And all while Little Lita is waiting/So you sing me slow songs darlin’/I’ll drive you crazy
SPD: What is wrong with you people!
Me: We are throwbacks to a simpler time before Corporate America got its hooks into Spring Training. We need to get to the game, and I need to find a barber.
SPD (now shouting): You aren’t going anywhere. There are three open containers in the car!
Me (waving my fingers): These aren’t the open containers you are looking for. How fast was I going?
SPD (still shouting): I pulled you over for an illegal U-Turn!
Me: Oh, I suppose I am guilty of that. How much will that be? Can we clear it up now? We have a game to go to.
SPD: An open container is a $750 dollar fine in Arizona.
Me: Really? Wow, that is steep. I guess these guys are ###### unless you let them slide. Whatta you say? That seems like a lot of paperwork.
SPD: Why would I let them slide? You guys are going to be a mess after the game.
Me: Look, this isn’t our first time here. We aren’t driving after the game. Our wives are meeting us there and driving us back home. They are headed to the pool soon with the kids.
SPD: How do I know that?
Me: Would you like to call my wife? She is kind of pissed at me for the whole hair thing Friday night (I take my hat off and show him my half shaved head). I was supposed to take care of it yesterday.
SPD: (just stares at my head)
Me: Is there a Fantastic Sams or Good Cuts nearby? A simple barber shop will do. What time do they open?
SPD: (still just staring)
Me: I know—it looks terrible, which is why I have to get to a barber.
SPD: What happened to your hair?
Me: We have rule when we come to the Cactus League. Anyone who pukes up a shot has to shave his head. One of these asshats tried to slip me something with Jager in it. It wasn’t really even a puke; more like a gag reflex that came up my nose. I lost the appeal though. (lowering my voice, looking into his eyes). These guys are hardcore. Do you really think dropping that paperwork is necessary? How about just letting us go?
SPD (points his finger at me, says nothing, then storms back to his car, turns around half way, comes back, shakes his finger at me again): Get the hell out of here! You better not be driving after the game!
SPD follows us for four blocks, then turns. Crises averted.