I'm a Hoodlum and a Perp

Rushing around. Trying to get things done.
I had a list of things to do and I wanted to get back in time for Jerry Springer.

It was single digit weather. You know it’s cold when dogs are freezing to fire hydrants. I was prepared. I am, after all, a New Englander.
But that was fairly obvious, by the Red Sox cap on my head and the Patriots hooded sweatshirt zipped up keeping me snug and warm.
To keep warm in such weather you need to dress in layers. I’m sure you’ve heard that before. It’s true, as I always do with such statements; I checked its validity on Snopes.com.

So … under my hooded sweatshirt was a long sleeve denim shirt, over a short sleeved t-shirt, which was over a long sleeve t-shirt, which was covering all I really needed which was the 30 pounds of genuine Italian chest and back fur I usually carry around with me.

No wonder I got more than the normal amount of stares from my fellow shoppers at the supermarket. I must have looked like the Unabomber with my hood up and my bulky sweatshirt stuffed with layers of clothes. And now that I’m thinking about it, it kind of explains why people were going out of their way to avoid my shopping cart as I barreled down the aisles at six APM* instead of my usual two APM. (*Aisle Per Minute). I had not one carriage bump: although I did clip a few people at their heels.

“OUCH! Slow down!”
“Oops! Sorry sir.”
“OWWWW! WTF!”
“Oops! My bad, mamm.”
“Yeeeeowww! Boo-hoo. Boo-hoo! Mommy, mommy!”
“Oops! Sorry kid.”

So … I have two errands left … the dry cleaners and the bank.
I park the car, grab the bag of dirty clothes and run down the sidewalk.
I open the door to the drycleaners … chuck my bag in … and say …
“Marie,Imgoingnextdoortothebank. I’llbebackintwominutestopickupmycleanclothes.”
Shhhhhwoooooosh!
“Marie, what was that? I couldn’t make out who it was.”
“I’m not sure, Sue. According to the label on the bag it was Joe.”

I enter the bank and quickly take my place in line.
I check my watch … Ten minutes to Springer.
“Jerry! Jerry! Jerry! Jerry!” … I think to myself.
Then came the poke in my back.
“Crap! It’s a hold up.”
“You want to remove your sunglasses.” … It was a statement more than a question … I ignored it.
Another poke … only harder …
“I said, remove your sunglasses … and the hood.”
I turn to face an old man, easily in his eighties.
“Sir, they’re called ‘Transitions’ … They’re not sunglasses.”
“Don’t take that tone with me young fella. Now, take off the hood, hat and glasses!”
“Sir, if I take off the glasses I can’t see.”
“That’s it! Let me see some ID!”
“Huh? Wha? … No sir … let me see YOUR ID!”

Then came the manager …
“Okay. Okay, gentlemen. Let’s take a breath. Mr. Sampson, is something wrong?”
“Is something wrong? Why yes, there’s something wrong. This perp won’t take off his disguise.”
“Joe, would you please pull down your hood and remove your cap for the retired Sergeant Sampson?”
“Ahm … sure … okay … sorry about that.”
“There’s something fishy about this hoodlum. He was wearing sunglasses a minute ago.”
“Sergeant, sir, I told you they’re ‘Transitions’! They’re the same glasses!”
“Joe, please, window two, it’s your turn.”
“Next time obey the signs or I’ll bring you in.”
“Yea … whatever!”
“Uh, Mr. Sampson, please, way down this end, window six will take you.”

Back at the cleaners …
“Hey, I’m back to pick up my clothes.”
“Oh, Joe. It was you. You were so quick before. We didn’t know who it was with the hood, hat and sunglasses.”
“OMG! They’re ‘Transitions! Not sunglasses … oh … never mind. Bye!”

“Sue? Is it me, or was Joe just not his usual happy-go-lucky self today?
“You’re right, Marie. He did seem a bit upset … but his glasses were kind of cool.”