Why Are You Touching My Orange?

Anaheim PD could use training in a myriad of areas, but I'll focus on just three in this post.

1. How to Arrest a Female without Sexually Harassing Her and Failing to Read Her Miranda Rights

Imagine this scenario: four thuggish-looking men, not in uniform, pull up in unmarked cars and scare the living daylights out of you because you think it's he-who-shall-not-be-named and his cronies, finally come to kill you. Nope, it's just Anaheim PD. You: 5'4" and a petite 100 pounds (my kidnapper was a bit incorrect in her restraining order when she very cutely tried to clock me at 120 pounds and 5'2". In your dreams, honey. And trust me, all my weight is in my caboose.)

While Anaheim PD is technically there with just a search warrant for my devices (which I obligingly and naively hand over, along with my passcodes, because I've got nothing to hide), they decide on the spot to arrest me because the actual perpetrators have sent things into my inbox, which is enough (at least in the eyes of someone who has NEVER USED EMAIL) to "associate" me with the crime. Apparently, if I want to get you arrested for a crime, I have but to send something into your inbox or carbon copy you on an email. Bet you had no idea how easy it really is. Let's all practice on Tony Rackauckas. 

Once the grey aliens--er, sorry, Anaheim PD--make the split second decision to place me under arrest, they a) fail to read me my Miranda Rights (I mean, I guess there's no point if you're already making a false arrest, right?) and b) tell me they won't pat me down because my dress is really thin. My very sarcastic internal monologue: Oh gee, officers, I'm just so grateful you aren't feeling me up while placing me under false arrest. How can I ever thank you enough?

2. Basic Email Usage

Here's how you send an email. Here's what it looks like when it gets delivered into your cop friend's inbox. Here's what carbon copy is. That's what "cc" stands for, by the way. Here's how you can edit the text in the email subject line almost like it's a word document. You know, all that annoying basic stuff you learn if you use email. Ever. At all. I'd be happy to teach this class. I'm not a tech-savvy person, but I am still light-years ahead of these guys. Mostly because I've worked in an office environment for a period longer than two weeks.

3. Table Manners

And thus we arrive at the real topic of this post. Food etiquette. I think it's really important that our officers of the law receive basic training in table manners. I'm pretty sure, for example, that most of us know you're not supposed to touch another person's food without asking. Apparently, my arresting officer, and the detective they lauded in the OCDA's Press Release, never got that memo because, two days before I was released from Orange County Jail, I was called into a meeting with Anaheim PD and my favorite Orange County District Attorney, Richard Zimmer. He's the only one I know so he gets to be the favorite. 

As for my arresting officer, well, we'll get to that...

In jail, you're on a pretty strict feeding schedule, kinda like livestock being fattened for slaughter. Lunch is a repugnant bologna sandwich. No cheese. No toppings. Nothing fancy. Just stinky old bologna. You also get a pack of county cookies, which are rather a big deal in jail. I wasn't a fan, but I was able to trade them for miscellaneous goodies or give them away as a gesture of good will towards the other inmates. And you get either an apple or an orange. I preferred apple days. I drink orange juice, but I don't eat oranges. They're messy to peel, and I have texture issues. 

Somehow, the world's greatest detective picked up on my dislike of oranges without my saying a word. If only he had turned these same detective skills towards my case, right? As I'm still working on my sandwich and cookies, he asks me if I'm going to eat my orange. "No," I say, "I don't like eating oranges." He snatches it off the table, and get this: he waves the damn thing over my Styrofoam cup like freaking Obi-Wan Kenobi trying to convince me these aren't the droids I'm looking for. 

"You could juice it," he says. At this point, I've stopped eating. I watch him wave my orange back and forth over my cup and laugh nervously. Quite honestly, I'm not sure how to react. For one thing, this man has breached all the rules for table etiquette. He is touching my food without permission. For another, I wonder if he's trying to play mind games with me, and I have half a mind to say to him, "Your Jedi mind tricks won't work on me. No money, no parts, no deal." Just to make sure we're on the same page.

Dude. Don't try to Jedi mind trick the girl who was raised on Star Wars. It won't work. I'm like Rey or Princess Leia. I'm the product of exceptional Jedi blood; my midi-chlorians are off the charts; and you don't even know how to use email. 

I look around to see if anyone else notices this odd display. Hello, Mr. DA, can I get some back up here? This guy is freaking me out.