KIcked In The Dick On Christmas Day
was motivating, I looked forward to the seasonal customs, but was always suspicious of how
Santa operated. On Christmas Eve, my parents would encourage my brother and I to
“go to bed” because Santa would not arrive with people awake. Then they would stay up with
a houseful of guests celebrating the holiday Italian style -drinking jugs of wine, smoking
cartons of cigarettes, eating seafood, and carrying on till sunrise- while we listened and
choked on the fumes atop the stairs.
Christmas morning we would drag my parents out of bed. Hung over and exhausted,
my father would set up the old 8 millimeter camera, flood the room with studio style lighting,
and blind his children while capturing silent films of us tearing into an overabundance of gifts.
We truly were blessed. We always received what we wanted, and as an added bonus,
my brother often had more fun playing with the boxes our gifts arrived in.
As an adult, though, Christmas sucks. Maybe it’s because I’m older now, but the holiday
seems co-opted by big box retailers and clever marketing schemes. Black Friday is a shoddy
embarrassment of American adulthood, devoid of religious meaning or seasonal cheer.
Simply stated, Christmas is a shell of what it was years ago.
Today’s fragmented families also deplete the Hallmark qualities from decades ago. Many
neighborhoods no longer string lights across the Avenues for shoppers. Even Brooklyn’s
pea coat and cap wearing Christmas tree vendors have been replaced by day laborers.
Say what you will, but the feeling just isn’t the same.
I try to do my part though. While I won’t fake holiday cheer, as a civil servant I go to great
lengths to be generous to others. My professional standard of showing ample discretion is
heightened during the holidays- especially on Christmas Day. There’s no greater shame
than forcing the wheels of justice (from the Judges, to District Attorneys, to court and
corrections officers) to have to deal with some silly cop’s unnecessary arrest. I get the point.
On a recent New Year’s Eve, I was demeaned by an entire party-hat wearing, horn tootin’
emergency room staff for escorting some young, drunk, and unconscious female off the
streets just before midnight. But hey, shit happens.
seems co-opted by big box retailers and clever marketing schemes. Black Friday is a shoddy
embarrassment of American adulthood, devoid of religious meaning or seasonal cheer.
Simply stated, Christmas is a shell of what it was years ago.
Today’s fragmented families also deplete the Hallmark qualities from decades ago. Many
neighborhoods no longer string lights across the Avenues for shoppers. Even Brooklyn’s
pea coat and cap wearing Christmas tree vendors have been replaced by day laborers.
Say what you will, but the feeling just isn’t the same.
I try to do my part though. While I won’t fake holiday cheer, as a civil servant I go to great
lengths to be generous to others. My professional standard of showing ample discretion is
heightened during the holidays- especially on Christmas Day. There’s no greater shame
than forcing the wheels of justice (from the Judges, to District Attorneys, to court and
corrections officers) to have to deal with some silly cop’s unnecessary arrest. I get the point.
On a recent New Year’s Eve, I was demeaned by an entire party-hat wearing, horn tootin’
emergency room staff for escorting some young, drunk, and unconscious female off the
streets just before midnight. But hey, shit happens.
In keeping with the holiday spirit, I often volunteer to work on Xmas day. After all, someone
with kids should get priority over me on the holiday, so I will usually work for someone else
that day. Working in Coney Island, winter holidays are a charm anyway. Coney in the off
season is an interesting place, distinctly different from the madness of summer. Most visitors
roaming the closed amusement district are homeless folks evicted from trains at Stillwell
Avenue enroute to the storage yard.
One Christmas I was volunteering my day and the crisp chilly night was picture perfect. The
only thing missing from Surf Avenue was tumbleweed. I was spending my lunch hour at the
front desk joking with the Desk Sergeant and his assistant when someone came barging into
the stationhouse yelling, “There’s a fight on the bus out front!”
only thing missing from Surf Avenue was tumbleweed. I was spending my lunch hour at the
front desk joking with the Desk Sergeant and his assistant when someone came barging into
the stationhouse yelling, “There’s a fight on the bus out front!”
UGGGH! I looked at the two on the desk, (Both on modified desk duty without a gun and
shield…another story for another day.) and they looked at me, loaded up and in full uniform.
“Ok, I’m coming” I said, wondering what kind of foolishness I was about to get myself into.
Looking toward the parked bus, I notice it swaying with commotion. Through steamed
windows I see a woman flailing her arms like a windmill, swinging on everyone in her path,
but connecting with nobody. Turns out, she was kicked out of her family holiday gathering for
being drunk and obnoxious. Not wanting to spoil the mood, she took her cause to strangers
on the bus. After many warnings from the driver, she walked up and began slapping him.
Bystanders then became involved, giving the 22 year old amateur drunk other targets for
insults and punches. As I arrived, she was being slammed into the rear exit door by the bus
driver whose shirt was partially untucked, with his gut hanging out.
“I want her off this bus!” He shouted, massaging his forearm. I put the overserved girl in
handcuffs while passengers reciprocated the holiday spirit with a barrage of joyous insults.
Looking at the bus driver, I could tell he wasn’t in the mood for this scenario any more than
I was. The driver kept looking at his watch until saying, “It’s my last run of the night, and I just
want to get home.” At the same instant, from the front entrance of the bus, I heard a familiar
voice blurting out something behind me.
shield…another story for another day.) and they looked at me, loaded up and in full uniform.
“Ok, I’m coming” I said, wondering what kind of foolishness I was about to get myself into.
Looking toward the parked bus, I notice it swaying with commotion. Through steamed
windows I see a woman flailing her arms like a windmill, swinging on everyone in her path,
but connecting with nobody. Turns out, she was kicked out of her family holiday gathering for
being drunk and obnoxious. Not wanting to spoil the mood, she took her cause to strangers
on the bus. After many warnings from the driver, she walked up and began slapping him.
Bystanders then became involved, giving the 22 year old amateur drunk other targets for
insults and punches. As I arrived, she was being slammed into the rear exit door by the bus
driver whose shirt was partially untucked, with his gut hanging out.
“I want her off this bus!” He shouted, massaging his forearm. I put the overserved girl in
handcuffs while passengers reciprocated the holiday spirit with a barrage of joyous insults.
Looking at the bus driver, I could tell he wasn’t in the mood for this scenario any more than
I was. The driver kept looking at his watch until saying, “It’s my last run of the night, and I just
want to get home.” At the same instant, from the front entrance of the bus, I heard a familiar
voice blurting out something behind me.
“Assaulting a Bus Driver is an automatic arrest and a felony!” I turned to see Brian, our
perpetually modified desk cop blurting out free legal advice. Glaring at my unwanted
assistance, I suddenly had a vision. The vision was of a desolate central booking on
Christmas night, with the lights dimmed and holiday music piped into the cells. Then I
imagined all the assigned personnel, serving egg nog with Santa hats on, looking at me
with sheer disgust for admitting this very unnecessary, loud, drunk chick. Suddenly I snapped
back to reality. I turned to the driver and said, “If it’s alright with you, I’ll drag her into the
precinct and take care of it from there.” He was elated to oblige and salvage the holiday
away from paperwork, and go home.
perpetually modified desk cop blurting out free legal advice. Glaring at my unwanted
assistance, I suddenly had a vision. The vision was of a desolate central booking on
Christmas night, with the lights dimmed and holiday music piped into the cells. Then I
imagined all the assigned personnel, serving egg nog with Santa hats on, looking at me
with sheer disgust for admitting this very unnecessary, loud, drunk chick. Suddenly I snapped
back to reality. I turned to the driver and said, “If it’s alright with you, I’ll drag her into the
precinct and take care of it from there.” He was elated to oblige and salvage the holiday
away from paperwork, and go home.
Walking back across Surf Avenue and holding onto the cuffed perpetrator, I turn looking angrily
at Brian. “Are you gonna process this bag of shit arrest? Of course you’re not, so shut the fuck
up and let me handle the situation! I was handling it well enough without you…and why are you
even out here without your gun and… OOOOOOOOOOOFFFFFFFFFF!”
at Brian. “Are you gonna process this bag of shit arrest? Of course you’re not, so shut the fuck
up and let me handle the situation! I was handling it well enough without you…and why are you
even out here without your gun and… OOOOOOOOOOOFFFFFFFFFF!”
While escorting the drunk, holding her rear cuffed and walking one pace behind, I turned my
head for 10 seconds. During my tirade, she decided to mule kick me right in the groin. I nearly
collapsed, but held on. A true test of professionalism, I fought the impulse not to lose my cool
and punch the prisoner in the head. Luckily, the prisoner was drunk, female, and at the moment
of impact, I would have preferred to punch my backup instead. She also missed the sensitive area
and, thankfully, only nicked my Irish endowment instead.
She sobered up considerably in my company as I began walking upright again. Fortunately,head for 10 seconds. During my tirade, she decided to mule kick me right in the groin. I nearly
collapsed, but held on. A true test of professionalism, I fought the impulse not to lose my cool
and punch the prisoner in the head. Luckily, the prisoner was drunk, female, and at the moment
of impact, I would have preferred to punch my backup instead. She also missed the sensitive area
and, thankfully, only nicked my Irish endowment instead.
she did not have any outstanding warrants. Thirty minutes later, with the blessing of the Desk
Sergeant, she was given a disorderly conduct ticket, and tossed out into the cold.
I haven’t been mule kicked by any prisoner since.
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