OK, I'll be the first to admit I'm the oldest eight-year-old you probably know, and that might be giving me too much credit. But a lot of you think I'm a lot less responsible than I actually am. For example, very few of you know which company I work for during my regular non-writing life because I never post it on social media. You just know the industry. That's pretty responsible.
But the best example of how responsible I am is a product of my time working as a parts driver for the City of Elmhurst. I got to drive fuckin' cop cars, man, and even though I felt the occasional perverse need to flip on the flashing lights, I never did. I was always professional behind the wheel. One of my bosses? Not so much. I remember driving him to the PD when he leaned out the passenger side window to heckle a pedestrian. He then yanked his head back in and said, "Oh shit. I forgot I'm in a cop car." That was him, buddy. Not me.
But more importantly, when I tendered my resignation to enter the corporate world (probably a big mistake on my part), they forgot to take my keys back. You know, the ones that start the cop cars. I also had the combination to the PD garage in my head. In theory, they changed it. But I know those guys. They didn't.
I could have gotten into the PD and taken a cop car for a joyride. Probably while drunk. Did I do that? Not just no, but fuck no.
But I could have.
And I didn't.
The combo has got to be different now. I know the keys don't work in the new cop cars, not that I have the keys anymore. But still. Think of the chaos I could have ignited and chose not to.
Not bad for a misanthrope, eh?
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