During my time as a patrol officer in a suburb of New Orleans, it seemed like no more than a month or so would pass by without my having to see some stranger's bared ass. Maybe it was something to do with the lunar calendar, or maybe Venus was in retrograde. Then again, maybe it had something to do with Uranus, I don’t know. Whatever the reason, for awhile there it seemed to me like the extent of my crime fighting career was destined to be centered around wackos being naked…or as they say down here in the bayou: “Nekked”.
It wasn’t that the calls involved were anything one might consider particularly lascivious and, unfortunately, most of the parties involved were anything but arousing. In fact, for the most part, it was all pretty standard stuff, especially around Mardi Gras when everybody gets at least partially nekked round these parts. However this wouldn't be much of a story if there weren't at least a few others that stood out better than most.
For example, there's the nudity typical of the occasional drunken sot who, while urinating in public, has lost the ability to unzip his (or her) fly and who’s saturated trousers eventually succumb to the laws of gravity. Then there was the homeless man (a regular) with the habit of defecating behind the dumpsters of a local supermarket and who oftentimes wandered about with pants around his ankles trying to find a piece of newspaper, or wood, or a squirrel to aid in his quest for alimentary hygiene. (I know what you’re thinking and, I too, often wondered why he did not prepare beforehand; but when the replies to your inquiries end up being a string of Thunderbird infused vowels, you eventually stop asking).
We had one guy jump out of a window when his girlfriend’s husband came come unexpectedly and in his haste to beat a speedy retreat, forgot his pants. He eventually got the nerve to flag down a passing vehicle from behind the cover of a bunch of garbage cans, however the blue-haired motorist wanted nothing to do with him and called 911...go figure.
One that still gives me an acute case of the heebie-jeebies involved a flustered and quite overweight prostitute (think Nell Carter with a weave, after Zumba class and you're not even close). The way she explained it, she had been forcibly ejected (which is the part I could never buy into) from her “John’s” vehicle without her skirt and or panties and left wandering the side of the highway. I felt bad for her of course, but based on the unpleasant odor emanating from her lady parts, obviously an adverse reaction to a lifelong Sitophilia fetish involving moldy cottage-cheese, I can understand why he split. The guy probably didn't know what he was getting himself into at first and thought better of it... or maybe he was lactose intolerant.
From time to time I was fortunate enough to be dispatched to remote locations around the Parish, only to find a lone vehicle parked in the shadows along the lane. This normally led to the discovery of windows fogged caused by the enthusiastic efforts of a couple's amorous activities taking place within said vehicle and whose occupants were often only identifiable by either palm prints or dainty little feet pressed against the inside glass of both the back and side windows. (It was considered an unwritten departmental policy for any deputy observing such behavior to immediately request backup on a “Code 69”, which was followed shortly thereafter by the rapid response of any and all law enforcement officer within hailing distance of said request… including State Police, Wildlife Agents, Weights and Standards, Wal-Mart loss prevention and the occasional Mall-cop).
One of the more entertaining incidents I personally observed occurred late one hazy, fall night when several of us were dispatched to a signal 107 (suspicious activity) occurring in a field behind a local middle school. Upon arrival, we saw nothing out of the ordinary, in fact, other than the clean, white sock next to the trodden grass at the edge of overgrown lot, everything looked normal…Well, being we were all trained investigators, it didn’t take us long to deduce that something was obviously afoot and that foot was apparently hiding somewhere out in the tall grass.
The veteran K-9 officer on scene sauntered over to his vehicle and casually rolled down the back window where his four-legged partner waited with all the patience of a Tasmanian Devil on Crystal-Meth. Grabbing the PA system from it’s cradle he pressed the side, blew across the spit guard to ensure that it was on, and, in his most pleasant voice, advised that it would be in the best interest of anybody that might be listening to show themselves. He then held the mike next to his dog who translated the message, just in case the individual listening was fluent in rabid demon.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then it was as if I was back in school watching one of those stop motion films in the study of night blooming fungi. One by one, heads began popping from the cover of the low lying mist covering the overgrown field, until we were looking upon the bare torsos of approximately fifteen, extremely pale, young men. I suddenly felt a little like Dr. Livingston locating a never before seen tribe of suburban aborigines of the white-bread clan. Their nether regions partially covered by night fog and cupped hands, the group of lost-boys looked to each other for support. Finally, the bravest of the bunch and obviously their leader, poked out a scrawny chest like a malnourished pigeon and, in the Queen’s English no less, proceeded to inform us with some bravado that they were all in fact completely naked and legally had the right to be so. I'm not sure which was more profound, our stunned silence or the rest of his crew's obvious embarrassment.
Speculation was thrown about our own group at once: Were these young men brain washed victims of the Armenian sex trade? Had we disrupted some kind of bizarre sex cult? Maybe aliens had returned them in some kind of cosmic group rate, after finishing some kind of weird alien sex thing with them. Why is everything always about sex with you Joey? And most importantly, who in the Hell was going to handle this report?
Long story short (in their defense it was chilly that night) we eventually learned they were all Loyola underclassmen (which explained their leader's skewed interpretation of the law) pledging a fraternity. Apparently one of their would be frat brothers had been kind enough to drop them off without their clothes and then called the local authorities about some suspicious characters as he pulled away. What a pal. I’m just glad we missed the whole vinyl-clad sheep thing.
As is usually the case, I have kept the best for last. This next one has it all, action, violence and, in keeping with the theme at hand, nekkedness. But, for the sake of keeping these posts short and your attention span focused, this is where I will confound you as I unexpectedly leave you with what is known in the business as a cliff-han…
(Oh damn... I cut it off too soon. I'm never going to get the hang of this)
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