Ride Alongs Aren't Sexy
February 21, 2011

I don’t know why I derive so much material from checkout lines [see: Jaded Cashiers / Weekend Shopping / Next Customer / Buttery Backup / Do Without / Last Xmas / Grape Soda]. Interesting shit just happens there. Today, I was waited on by a cute, petite cashier who just so happened to be prodigiously endowed in the mammary glandular area. She was perky and flirtatious and, as usual, I was considering exposing myself to her. Joking. Kind of. But she was certainly the preferred cashier for a heterosexual male, as opposed to the flamboyantly homosized hipster stilt that was working the next register over and boisterously showing off the lisp he’s been cultivating for the last decade.

We exchanged enthusiastic how-do-you-dos, and I was quickly able to get her leaning forward laughing over an imitation of stilt-boy that she wasn’t ready for. This showed a) she had a sense of humor and b) a deeper angle of her upper fun zone. Let’s pause and evaluate the situation. Little girl. Big boobs. Works retail (she can’t think too highly of herself), and enjoys my mockery of others. All is right with the world. This little scenario could even lead to me not returning this girl’s phone calls.

Next, Princess Perky gave me my total and I swiped my credit card. She asked to see the card along with my driver’s license - a request with which I complied. She then said, jokingly, “And I’m gonna make you show them to me three more times before you’re out of here!”

“Three times?” I asked, avoiding the obvious “what do you plan to show me in return” response. “Am I that handsome or are you working for the police department?”

Her response?

“No, but I do do ride-alongs and volunteer with the police!”

And with that statement she not only sucked the life out of the flirtation, she might as well have deflated each breast with a taser right then and there. Her statement immediately removed any modicum of sex appeal she had. She could have vomited the contents of her stomach onto the counter and re-consumed them like a dog, and I would have remained more sexually engaged than I was after she told me about her pretend police-girl routine.

“Hmmm. What’s the deal there? You trying to become a cop?” I pressed.

“No. But I think it’s cool. You get to see some cool stuff doing that. You have some cool experiences.”

Bear in mind we’re in about the safest town in America, and she confirmed it was this particular town’s overzealous, nothing-better-to-do but cite productive citizens for non-offenses police department that she “rides along” with. All the while not trying to become a cop.

“Cool experiences, huh? I don’t know, wouldn’t you rather just play cops and robbers and not bother people?”

She found this highly entertaining, too, and again bent forward laughing to showcase her flesh pillows, not realizing I was no longer engaging her, but simply making fun of her.

“You’re too funny,” she told me.

To which all I could offer was a cold, “Yeah, it’s clear you liked that one.” I then took my receipt and tried to get home before she got off work and had the local 5-0 tail me long enough to convince themselves I’d broken the law.

Now I’m not saying that, if push came to shove, I would have denied this power-hungry little trollop direct contact with my nightstick, but ladies out there, please realize, there is nothing more repulsive to a self-respecting male than your desire to act like a man and exert control over others. It propels you from cute to cunt in the blink of a whispering eye. You’re doing volunteer police work in your twenties? What the fuck is your life? And spare me any nonsense about guys fantasizing over sexy female cops. Number one, you’re not a cop. You ride around in their cars playing make-believe while they write tickets to middle-class housewives for committing rolling-stops in their minivans. And Number two, the fantasy you’re referring to involves the male taking control of the sexy female cop, bringing her down a peg or seven, and showing her the letter of Natural Law (it resembles an “I”). This whole “fantasy” is based on removing the imaginary power of the badge-adorned female and creating submission.

So if you’re a single girl-about-town that just so happens to get a rush from being there when the local police department catches elementary schoolers jaywalking on trafficless streets, you might want to keep that information to yourself anytime you’re not talking to one of these brave, traffic-slowing, revenue-generating, lethally-armed, glorified meter maids. Ride-alongs aren’t sexy. No male has ever been asked what he looks for in a girl and responded, “Big tits, great ass, and bitch gots to pull at least twenty hours a week volunteering with her local PD.” Cruising school zones in the back of a squad car while Officer McWhere’s-his-hair looks for perps driving while on their phone is no man’s idea of a killer first date. And backseat lovin’ is a bit awkward when there’s a pair of aviator shades fixed in the rearview mirror. Next time just light some scented candles, turn on Steven Segal Lawman, apply your gun-shaped vibrator as desired, and move on with your creepy life.

Ew.