LAST WEEK WEDNESDAY:-/
"Do you have any conditions? Are you on any medication?"
"Are you a doctor?"
"No."
"Then, you are not allowed to ask me that: are you!?"
The point Officer turns to his partner standing on the side walk behind where the point Officer has one foot on the front steps. He, then, turns back towards me sitting in a "Crazy Creek Chair" at the top of the steps on the porch. I reach into my left pocket.
"Here is my license. I don't have any weapons on me."
"I don't need to see your license," he says as I pull out my renewed license from my wallet.
I hand the license to the Officer.
"Do you see an 'M' on that license!? ... No, you do not!!! There is only an 'A' for spectacles. ... Here is my old license. Do you see an 'M' on that license? Yes, you do. DMV knows about it!"
The point Officer hands back the old license as he grinds his boot into my old dog Russel's commemorative, artistic poster that I made out of pictures of "Russell, the dog" for Russell's seventy-five visits to a retirement community when Russell was alive.
I had pulled the poster out from under the door mat in front of my front door after unpinning it from a corner wall in my apartment and sliding it under the door mat in advent of a five minute wait for the Officers to show up (as I was informed), but ended up being twenty minutes since the phone call to ask the dispatcher as to why Officers had been knocking at my door an hour before while I lay in bed trying to nap and the wife watching TV at the time.
Needless to say: the poster was put into the recycling and picked up the next day by garbage men in City of Portland, Maine.
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