JAN. 20, 2006
THE DINNER PARTY, PART II

Wouldn't you know, not more than 10 minutes after we arrived, someone recognized me and announced to everyone that I was a cop.

I'm proud of what I do, but once everyone at a party knows you're a cop, the party is pretty much over. Every time it happens, I figure I might as well set up a booth and charge $1 a question because I know they are going to line up.

It's the same stuff every time:

• "I got a traffic ticket I didn't deserve, how do I beat it?"
• "I got arrested for drunk driving but I only had ONE six pack."
• "Which drug is worse alcohol or marijuana?"
• "What does it feel like to be shot?"
• "Do you believe in the death penalty?"
• "How many innocent people have you killed?"

And on and on like that.

But on this particular night the situation was even worse, because one of the hostesses of this little shindig just so happened to recognize me as the cop who'd written up her poor Muffy.

When you've been a cop in the same city for as long as I have, you come across a lot of people. And with a name like Stottlemeyer, they all seem to remember you.

So wouldn't you know that this Betty happened to be the recipient of the one and only leash-law violation I ever wrote up in my entire career, 25 years ago. And wouldn't you know, she recognized me.

She announced to half the people there how I had humiliated her and her precious dog Muffy along Pier 39. The truth is, Muffy was a sick-looking little mutt who was running around the end of the pier trying to hump every little kid getting off the carousel. I'm not saying the little mongrel should have been put down or anything, but a dog like that should have been on a leash and a citation was perfectly called for.

Of course, Betty didn't see it quite that way. And apparently, she still holds a bit of a grudge against me.

So much for being undercover: Betty broadcast who I was and what I had done, to everyone in the house. Made me look like some sort of animal-hater.

Still, I was ready to stick to the rules and try to have a good time. That is, until a couple approached me and said they had a problem that required police intervention. I figured they wanted someone to put the fear of god into their daughter's no-good boyfriend, something like that.

Turns out, they want me to do surveillance on an English Sheep Dog. They wanted me to run around in the middle of the night following some dog that was allegedly harassing the other neighborhood dogs. I guess they'd heard I was an animal-hater and figured I'd be perfect for the job.

I tried to keep my cool and answer them as politely as I could, but they could probably tell I was a little steamed. I explained that I now manage the San Francisco PD's homicide division, and since as Captain of the division I'm usually pretty busy tracking down our city's worst murderers and violent criminals, I don't really have much extra time to spend enforcing animal code violations.

They got the picture after that and backed off. Unfortunately, Karen heard me and shot me look of death. She told me I was "so Republican" and gave me the cold shoulder for the rest of the night.

The no alcohol policy went out the window, and "long story short" I ended up sleeping on the couch. Some party.

Past Entries:

• (1/13) The Team Building Workshop