The other night I lay me down to sleep in the twilight of an oppressive Calgary heat wave, unawares that the city had other plans for me. It was nearly 3am, and both body and mind had agreed that the time for bed was well past--I'm not saying that, though not yet at the age of 30, I'm too old to be partying late into the night--but I'm also not not saying that I can't party like I did when I was young.
Before I go on, those of you from Toronto should know that the Calgary constabulary have not one, but two, copper choppers;
Toronto, on the other had has not one, but none. I pity the fools who have to live in that place.
My eyelids were bobbing on their hinges, flirting with each other, when what sounded like an air invasion began right outside my window. The Copper Chopper was in MY hood. MINE! I immediately got nostalgic for Parkdale, and began fearing for my life.
Peering out the window--but staying low enough that any Jamaican drug lords wouldn't be able to get a clear shot--I saw Calgary's Finest Airborne circling low and tight over the block across the street. They were using the spotlight, and if you've never seen one of those puppies in action--well!--I could almost read a book, and it wasn't being aimed at me.
I thought, "Holy shit! There's some serious shit going down tonight!"
And then I thought, "I should get my housecoat on and check this shit out!"
And then I thought, "If it really is some serious shit, I don't want to get myself up shit creek without a paddle!"
So I decided to stay in and let my opportunity to be a hero come to me. But I promised myself that if I heard shots, or an officer call my GO! word ("Foxfire!"), that I would be on the scene like a sex machine--no questions asked.
After 15 minutes of the Huey roaring around in a circle, flooding my neighbourhood in artificial sun, it shot off into the night as quickly as it had arrived. But it left behind a pile of curiosity and sleeplessness.
Yesterday I happened upon a Po-Po and decided to pick his brain about what had gone down, and he was able to lift the worry and concern from my shoulders: they were busting a couple who were rip-roaring drunk, and had decided to go skinny dipping in the outdoor pool around the corner. For those that are curious, the female companion had a nice body--or should I say, allegedly had a nice body. The Huey was serving two purposes: extra light on the scene; and cheap thrills for the pilot and co-pilot.
I wish that I had someone to go allegedly trespassing (skinny dipping) with; I have a feeling that if I was caught buck wild in the pool by myself, trying to beat the heat, no helicopter would show up. Or if one did, they would likely throw me a towel and ask me to cover up.