Tales from the REAL O.C. - "Bad Boys" Edition
- posted by Legal Bitch @ 9:04 AM | Permanent Link

This week's installment of the REAL O.C. is from Legal Bitch's teen years. This story is the reason I don't go into public with my parents anymore. My father, as you learned last week, was a cop before he retired. He's also totally insane.

Shortly before the incident I'm about to describe occurred, the t.v. shop COPS came to my dad's police department to shoot a segment on an officer who had just moved from L.A. and had been on patrol during the L.A. riots (big time cop goes small town or something). Naturally, COPS handed out t-shirts and hats to all the deputies, and my father came home wearing his "Bad Boys, Whatcha Gonna Do?" hat, which he proudly wore as he pranced around the house singing the "Bad Boys, Bad Boys" song. (and yes, some smart ass bought him one of those dancing hamsters from Wal-Mart a few years ago that's all dressed up in the cop uniform and plays that frickin' song, and I drop-kicked it into the bushes outside when he wasn't looking.)

So one night my dad, mom, and I venture to the old Dollar Theater on Alps to catch a movie. We watch the movie, and afterwards my dad goes to the car (his '74 shit brown Dodge Dart) to wait for my mom and I to pick up some stuff from Drug Emporium next door. As my mom waits in line to check out, I wander outside to get a drink out of the Coke machine. That's when I see a middle aged, black homeless man approaching my dad in his car. I instantly feel nauseous. They exchange words for a few seconds, then I see my dad jump out of the car, pull his gun and start waving it around and yelling at the guy (sidebar: my dad is always packing heat. When he was allowed to carry guns in public, he usually had his sidearm, his backup in his ankle holster, mace, a knife, and usually a shotgun in the trunk and a spare .38 under the seat or in the glove compartment). As I stand in front of the store, mouth hanging open and soda in hand, I see the blue lights come tearing into the parking lot before I even hear the siren. The ACC cop car pulls up to my dad and the homeless dude, with the cop blaring on his loudspeaker "Drop your weapon!" My dad responds (dear God I STILL want to die of embarassment and this happened like 12 years ago) "Don't sweat it comrade, I'm Five-0! I'm Five-0!" (which is my dad's 1950's Hawaii 5-0 cop speak for "Don't shoot, I'm a cop too!") (and all this while waving his gun and pointing to his "Bad Boys, Whatcha Gonna Do?" hat, as if it were assigned to all cops as part of their uniform and makes it o.k. to wave around guns in public, since he's a "Bad Boy" and "Whatcha Gonna Do?" about it anyway, sucka!). Turns out the homeless dude was only asking my dad for a ride, and my dad assumed he wanted to buy drugs or sell me into prostitution or something since he's been a cop his whole life and is completely paranoid and desensitized, and he totally flipped out on the guy. My mom comes out of Drug Emporium with bags in hand, sees the scene, and almost instantly starts crying (my parents will be married 35 years in August, so I don't know why she still acts all surprised and upset when this stuff happens, cuz' it used to happen quite a bit). So the ACC cop puts the homeless dude in the back of his cruiser, and my mom and I sit in the car in shame for about 45 minutes while my dad and the ACC cop shoot the breeze and talk about shooting people and guns and whatever it is cops talk about. We drive home in silence, and I never went to the movies with my parents again. (I have gone to Cracker Barrel with them since this incident, but I think it's acceptable to wave guns in the air there, and at least they serve pie).