The Bangor Police Department (yes, Bangor, Maine), posted the following statement on Facebook.
Got Warrants? is a marginally famous feature of the world's most renowned and casually mediocre police department Facebook page.It all started at the Jimmy Buffett concert, naturally.
It should be noted that we love Jimmy Buffett and his backup band, the Coral Reefers. When in Maine, they are entirely within their rights to consume herbal soothing agents for strained vocal cords; it's all legal here. The band has nothing to do with this story.
Clearly, those depicted in this missive believed they might have been at a country show. This is pure supposition, and by no means indicates that all country fans are prone to violence or drinking to excess. But to get the true story, one must speak to the show security staff. They are the folks stuck rasslin' with pre-lubricated people who have no business rasslin' at all.
One has not truly grappled unless they have latched onto a sweaty concertgoer after they have been saturated with several quarts of the devil's quenching fluids. They do get a bit slippery with the sweat from performing thirty-six poorly choreographed line dances while spilling their twelve-dollar Coors Light on co-dancers.
Please don't ask the cops about it; we have an implicit bias against those who only wear cowboy hats once a year and did last-minute Buck knife-only alterations to their favorite Wrangler jeans in order to pull off the Daisy Duke mystique just before wandering down Bangor's Main Street. It reveals things that even the original Daisy Duke would have found appalling.
I digress, but our story must begin because it was a Buffett concert, and it had to be "Five O'clock Somewhere."
A concerned citizen pointed out a male/female duo who turned out to be husband and wife. They had become disorderly and were bothering other patrons who came to the show specifically to become inebriated and wear hula skirts and fake parrots on their heads.
Come to think of it, a country-based costume might make more sense. No matter.
The couple became collectively unhappy with their interaction with Bangor Police Officers; belligerence ensued.
It was determined that their level of intoxication far surpassed those around them who were generally kind and colorful. Staff requested that the couple move along for a change in their latitude. They would not be allowed to enter the show. They complied and headed off to a different particular harbor. Or so we thought.
A very short time after the kind ejection from what could have become a lovely cruise, the female half of the partners in wine returned.
She was a bit angry that our cops did not know where her husband went. To be clear, the officers specifically explained that they had no idea, but she had some difficulty comprehending their answers.
Shortly after, the cops found her husband standing back in the line like nothing had ever happened. He was easily identifiable as he had not done what any good Buffett fan would have done. A Sharpie-drawn Pencil Thin mustache could have concealed his true identity; he was told—again—that he was not allowed to enter the show.
The man's language would have pleased even the most p.o'd pirate, but he did walk away as if to leave the area again. He swore like the Son of a Son of a Sailor, but we have heard it before. Someone should write a song about that.
Now, obviously, we have other things to do during the entry period of a concert. The officers left the area to attend to other matters, but upon their return to the gate, they found the man, still sans wife, waiting in line to get into the show. Little Miss Magic was nowhere to be found.
Since the third time is typically the charm, the cops asked the man to leave again. He refused. Officers attempted to guide him to another location when he resisted their efforts. He then blurted out the STFCTLTJ (Standard Threat For Cops To Lose Their Jobs).
He came at us hard, threatening to call his sister, who he claimed was State Legislator. He even gave out her name— repeatedly and loudly (sorry, Sis). His career-ending, expletive-filled tirade would probably upset his elected relative, so we moved forward; JBD (Jobs Be Darned).
Politics is tough and even more challenging when your brother utilizes threatening behavior by touting your elected position mixed liberally with alcohol-based refreshments.
While it's probably not in the Statutes Ensuring the Ethical Behavior of Elected Official's Relatives, the man kicked our officer at least once and prepared to do it again by cocking back his leg for another go.
One person, one vote must have crossed his mind, and he put his leg down, knowing he would soon need it to move past this unfortunate moment in his concert-going life. This is at least the Dream of this Unfortunate Poet. The man was taken to jail without further ado.
Now, where, oh where was his partner?
Little Miss Magic was later found to have entered the concert arena and enjoyed a bit of the show without the encumbrance of her special someone; she probably believed He Went to Paris.
She was placed under arrest.
Having some rudimentary knowledge about the cuisine at the county lock-up, the officers knew that neither of the former concertgoers would be enjoying a Cheeseburger in Paradise.
We suspect they had a Cheese Sandwich, no mayo, to be concise.
Officer Sinclair was whistling "It's My Job" on his way back from the jail. His life would be more peaceful now. "Fins Up."
*The writer of "Got Warrants?" utilizes hyperbole, song titles, and kind ribbing to tell a story. While unnamed and unidentified, all our characters are innocent until proven guilty in a court of law. Being arrested is not—ever—the determiner of guilt.
This story was brought to you by alcohol, warm temperatures, and crowded conditions.*
No one arrested was wearing a plastic parrot or shark-fin on their head. This bodes well for future Jimmy Buffett shows in our region.
8 comments:
Perhaps an exchange program of city leadership and police can be arranged.
Forget Tom Cotton; I'm voting for Tim.
Well written and even more, well played.
Oh Tim, she sounds like a true Southern gurl and he has the makings of a MS Redneck. Perhaps you can relocate and run for Chief of Police or Mayor of Jackson! Hell run for President of USA!
Loved this at the end; “Not a vegan.”
I loved this article. This is why we are buying a house in Maine and living there at least 6 months every year. Can you imagine living where the police can write, spell, punctuate, have a sense of humor and competently do their jobs? Where the local governments support them? Where crime is corresponding low? Maine is called vacationland for good reason.
I've followed them for a couple of years. Brilliant, fun community police. I can think of others who could benefit from this approach.
I could hear Perry Waggoner writing that story.
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