No Thanks, I Don't Want Any Crack

The trials and tribulations of a Private Investigator can be both hilarious and terrifying.  And boring as fuck. We'll focus on the hilarious and terrifying portions of the job, for the purpose of this entry.  To give those of you who don't know a little background, Private Investigators are hired for a number of reasons.  In their most basic terms, they are hired for insurance fraud or insurance fraud prevention, workers compensation claims, and domestic cases, (those are the real fun ones, where some rich c***t will call us and have us watch her husband cheating on her.)  Good times!

During one particularly brisk morning in the grand city of Lawrence, MA, yours truly was set up to perform surveillance on a side street at 6 a.m.  If you're white and just sitting in a parked car on a side street in Lawrence, you're a cop...except I'm not a cop.  Armed with only a taser, a young fellow who looked less than reputable approached my car.  Barely cracking my driver's side window, I said in the most ghetto voice I could muster.  "What's up."

"Are you a cop."
"Nah dude."
"Ya'll want some crack."
"Ahhh....no thanks, I don't want any crack."
"Well what the fuck you doin' here?"
"I work for an insurance company, just looking for a car to go by." (I obviously didn't want to tell him that I was watching for one of his homies.)
"How 'bout you git the fuck outta here."
"No problem, I was just leaving."

It's not that I was afraid, (ok, maybe a little), but I had been in this same situation a bunch of times.  It was just something about the guy coming strait out and asking if I wanted crack that kind of "got" me.  I laughed as I drove away and called my boss.  "Hey Gator, if you want some crack I found a good connects here in Lawrence." 

"I'm all set Vin, thanks anyways."

One time I drove down to Fall River and had to find out if a woman was working at an African Hair Braiding salon and spa.  I approached the door and walked in like I had been in an African Hair Braiding salon and spa a thousand times.  "How's it going?  I was looking to get a gift certificate for my girl."  I had never seen a more confused face staring back at me.  The black woman behind the counter was nearly speechless.  After making some small talk, I was given a business card which read, "African Hair Braiding, specializing in all kinds of braids.  Corn Rows-Kinky Twists-Micro Invisible-No Knots-Flat Twist-Weaves-And Many More."  Seriously, that's on the card, I have it right in front of me.  What the hell could "And Many More" mean, I thought.

I had a gun pulled on me in Dorchester, MA....and my car needed a jump.  THAT was a fun conversation.

One guy who I was supervising at the time lived in Detroit and was boxed in by three other cars.  He literally had to smash his way out of there, cause the cops sure as shit weren't gonna get there in time to save his white ass.

Another guy came out of his house wielding both a baseball bat and a golf club. "Why does he need both?" I thought.  I actually let this joker get to my car.  (A little inside information, by the way, we never sit in front of the house of the person we're watching, that would be stupid, so normally it's the neighbors we have to deal with.)  I rolled my window down.  "Can I help you insane fuck head?"  I actually asked, "Can I help you good citizen?"

"Why are you here?"
"Before I tell you, are you gonna use either one of those weapons on me or my vehicle."
"It depends."
"Well here's my answer then...I'm working.  That's all I need to tell you.  Go call the cops and ask them, I checked in with them this morning.  So before you run out here in your bathrobe wielding weapons like an asshole, why don't you go through the proper channels first. Sound good?"
"So the cops know you're out here?"
"Here's my cell phone, wanna call them."
He walked away, most likely feeling like a fool.  Ha, neigbors!  The P.I.'s natural enemy.  They are like the snake to our mongoose.

I flew to California to watch a plastic surgeon, who "couldn't perform his duties" any longer.  I watched this fool for five strait days drive his BMW to work, walk in with scrubs on, and take note of all the patients entering.  On the last day of surveillance, I walked into the office and made an appointment with this unsuspecting lard to get a tattoo removed, something, of course, which I had no intention of doing.  Armed with a hidden camera, I was able to get video of this clown exiting an exam room with scrubs and a mask on, and actually get him to tell me that he would be the one to perform my procedure.  In an instant, his multi-million dollar, lifelong disability claim was destroyed.  Sorry Charlie.

One of the more fun surveillance assignments I was given was done with another P.I.  Oh, and I brought my dad along for shits and gigs.  This family from Georgia who probably own some tobacco plantation or some such shit, hired my company to watch the wife of the wealthy husband while she was up in Massachusetts for a "fashion show."  Needless to say, my partner and I, as well as my dad, watched this two-timing bitch cheat on her husband throughout the night.  The best part was that my father and I ate and drank on the client's dime.  At closing time, me and my dad sat in my car across the street from the Boston bar that the wife and her boytoy were attending.  They exited and immediately started going at it against the wall, camera rolling.  My father and I could not control our laughter.  They were making out like two horny high school kids.  I was actually embarrassed for them.  Passerby watched with disgust as they kissed, groped, and fondled each other.  "Money shot."  I told my dad.  The one surveillance he comes with me and we strike gold.  This situation eventually brought me to court, in Georgia, to give a deposition.  We watched the video in the lawyer's office.  I got to describe what was taken in the video with this loser watching over my shoulder to make sure I was telling the truth.  She could say nothing. She was caught red-handed.  The rich family was so grateful that I caught this slut, that they gave me a nice bonus.

I know this wasn't the most entertaining entry, but I was bored.  Stay tuned for my review of 2011, coming in the next couple weeks. 

And hey, if you're legitimately hurt...collect the money you're due.  If your wife our husband is paranoid, maybe you shouldn't be with them anyways.  Private Investigator's are called into action only when there is reasonable cause. So don't hate.  We keep your insurance premiums down and we keep lying, cheating douchebags in check, so remember...we're the good guys.

I Bought A Pregnancy Test With My Laundry Quarters

No, not me personally...but this was how a friend of mine recently started a phone conversation with me.  Yikes.  I thought MY recent situation was bad!  It kind of makes you appreciate the things you have, AND the things you DON'T have, like a zygote in your uterus and/or money. 

If you read this on facebook, can you please comment on how YOU would respond to such a statement?  I couldn't really tell right away from the tone of her voice how upset she was, or if she was upset at all.  Was this a panicked phone call to a friend looking for advice, or was it just a topic for conversation?  I felt like the first words to leave my lips would be critical.  I had a very crucial and delicate decision to make, cause as we all know, bitches be crazy, and it would be my ass if I came back with the wrong response. 

Many things ran through my mind in a flash as to what to say initially.  My ideas ranged from simple, obvious questions, to trying to be consoling, to asking what I could do, to trying to make light of the situation, to utter dumbfoundedness.  We'll use the name "Late Girl" for the purposes of this story.  Examples of my first words included:  "Oh shit Late Girl! Why do you think you're pregnant?"  "How late are you?"  "Wait, are you seeing someone right now?"  "Ummm....did you take the test yet?" "Why did you feel the need to tell me you had to pay with quarters?  Are you implying that you're poor, or are you saying you need to do laundry at my house?"  "Ahhh...I know we're good friends, but am I the first person you should be telling this to?"  "Did the guy not have a twenty he could have spotted you?"  "Do you need to borrow money for tampons just in case it comes out negative?"  "Shit Late Girl, you couldn't have waited a couple days to get a paycheck?  I'm not an expert, but I'm pretty sure a couple days doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things."  "Are you shitting me?"  "So what are you gonna do if it's positive."  "How much do those piss sticks cost?"  "In theory, would you have to do any less laundry if you don't get your period, thus saving you quarters, or is the difference negligible?"  "Is it too late for plan B?"  "Do you need a hug?"  "If you ARE pregnant, there's no chance it's MINE, is there?"  OK, I made that last one up, a guy doesn't generally get a girl pregnant if it's been 3 years since they've slept together, and when it did happen, both of us passed out drunk before it was over.

Knowing the severity of the consequences had I said the wrong thing, I bought myself some more crucial seconds...precious time, by pausing a moment, and finally uttering the following in a confused tone:  "Wait...Late Girl....say that again?  What are you talking about?"

She sighed and repeated herself.  "Laundry quarters Vinny...I walked into the pharmacy with a five-dollar bill and my Ziploc bag full of quarters.  I walked up to the cashier with the cheapest pregnancy test I could find, a hood over my head, and shame filled embarrassment plastered on my face."

"Maybe if you had let something else get plastered on your face,  you wouldn't have been in this situation."

"THAT'S NOT FUCKING FUNNY!" 

I cringed for a second.  Perhaps making light of the situation was the wrong way to go.  After a few scary seconds; however, she laughed.  Disaster averted, well relatively speaking.  I suppose the overall disaster of the situation was still very much in play.  "What am I gonna dooooooooo?" She whined.

How the fuck should I know?  Was this a question of what is she gonna do if she's pregnant, where is she going to get more, actual paper money, or how is she gonna do her laundry?  I suppose it was most likely a combination of all of the above.

"Well what are you waiting for? Why don't you take the test and see what it says?  Wouldn't it resolve what is clearly an unanswered, stressful question?"  Quickly transforming into consoling friend mode--"Tell you what, why don't you come by, take the test over here, and you can even bring your laundry...how does that sound?"

She thought it over for a second.  "No, I'm just gonna take it in the morning, that's when your pee is most concentrated."  I held my phone away from my ear, leaned my head back, closed my eyes, and sighed.  I love Late Girl, I've been friends with her for half my life, we have shared many emotional conversations, consoled each other during break-ups, gave each other advice on life in general, and even shared genitals from time to time; but what the FUCK is she trying to get at right now.  WHAT does she want me to say or do.  There was no resolution that I could have come to at this very moment, with this very phone call.

"Listen, Late Girl, I don't know what you need.  Just tell me what you want me to do.  Do you need to borrow some money?  Do you need to borrow my toilet or washing machine? Seriously dude, I'm fishing for shit to say to you right now."

"I don't KNOW Vinny, I'm just freaking out."

"Wait, who are you even banging?"

"It was just a hookup, we were drunk...don't judge me."

"Whatever Late Girl. Listen, just calm down, wait until the morning, take the test, and let me know what it says. We'll figure something out.  Why is it that you felt the need to buy a test in such a hurry anyways?  How long ago did you bang this clown?"

"Like 3 weeks ago."

"Wait...3 weeks ago?  When were you supposed to get your period?  What makes you think you're pregnant?"

"I was supposed to get my period like a couple days ago or something, but I threw up this morning."

The stupidity of her answer nearly made me collapse to my knees, especially because my friend is very intelligent.  I'm a guy.  I have no idea what it feels like to be pregnant, to have a period, or to have morning sickness.  What I DO know, is that I've made a couple kids. I've been with the mother of my children as they found out they were pregnant, and what the general signs of pregnancy are.  In fairness to Late Girl, she is a little younger than me and has never been pregnant, she only has one brother, and I suppose being a couple days late and throwing up could have possibly made her a little anxious....but was she shitting me?

Instead of completely tearing into her and breaking her balls without mercy, (juuuuuuust in case I wound up being wrong,)  I took the high road.  "You're not pregnant Late Girl.  You probably ate some bad chicken or something.  There's nothing to worry about right now except maybe getting your underwear clean, ok?"

"OK.  Thanks Vinny, I just figured with you being a dad, you'd know about this stuff."

"What I do know is that before you use your last dime to buy a pregnancy test, call me FIRST next time, ok? Chances are you're not pregnant, and if you are, we'll figure something out, ok?"

"Alright Vinny, sorry to call you like this, I just get freaked out.  It was such a mistake to....."  Blah, blah, blah....she went on for like another 5 minutes and I just yupped her to death.

I never did get a call to find out if my friend's test came out positive.  I'm assuming it didn't, since I probably would have received a not-too pleasant, tear filled, follow-up phone call 2-5 minutes later, or possibly in the morning.  No call came. We haven't spoken in the last couple weeks, since this ridiculous call went down.

I guess the point of the story is to educate those of you out there who are about to spend your last bag of laundry quarters.  Don't.  And if you do, don't tell anyone about it, because it will probably end up as a blog entry on the Internet.

Merry Christmas

Ah, the holidays!  Depending on your point of view, either the happiest or shittiest time of year.  First of all, can we stop with all the "Happy Holidays" bullshit?  It's CHRISTMAS, ok? Can we just agree on that.  Say it with me, "Merry Christmas!"  It's ok...you're not going to get sneered at or be spit on or struck down by some God who isn't your God if you say Merry Christmas, I promise.  Whenever I hear "Happy Holidays," because of political correctness, it makes me want to punch myself in the face until I'm unconscious.  Who the hell do these people think they are trying to call a Christmas tree a "Holiday Tree?"  So you're just going to forgo hundreds of years of tradition just to be politically correct?

Guess what? If you know someone is Jewish, wish them Happy Hanukkah, or Chanukah, or whatever the fuck...if you know someone celebrates Christmas, wish them a Merry Christmas.  If you're not sure, go with the most popular one, the one that kids get a week off of school from...you guessed it, Merry Christmas!

Now listen, I'm the least religious person I know.  My family is Catholic, and I went to Sunday school and occasionally church when I was a kid, but I would consider myself Agnostic.  If you don't know what that means, go look it up, I'm not a fucking dictionary.  My kids have not been baptised or Christened and they don't have Godparents.  If they choose to pick a religion when they're older, that will be fine with me.  I was not going to force something on them before they were able to sit up.  Go ahead and judge me if you want to, but that's how my ex-wife and I are playing it.

Having said that, it's CHRISTMAS season.  CHRISTMAS is the holiday that MOST people celebrate.  If you're Jewish, that's awesome. Good for you.  If you're Muslim, great!  Taoist, Buddhist, Hindu, I don't give a flying, shit-covered fuck.  If you are celebrating a holiday in December, you are celebrating Christmas.  You know it, I know it, and so does the entire world....(except maybe the Middle East, but who cares about that desolate hell hole...even the sane Muslims know what's up.) 

Disclaimer, by the way, before any nice, practicing Muslims try to track this IP address and get all uppity....relax. Everyone knows you're out there.  Everyone knows that you can practice religion and pray to Allah or whoever you want to and everybody knows that the crazy Muslims shouldn't be lumped in with you, so just relax and put a sock in it already....jeezus.  And another thing, if you get racially profiled at the airport, too fucking bad!!  How many Asians have taken down an airplane?  Somebody find out and get back to me.  If you look like a Middle Eastern terrorist, just roll with it.  I apologize on behalf of white people everywhere, but the extremists who happen to look like you fucked it up for the rest of you, so just sit there, get your luggage checked, and move on with your lives.  Just to seem a lot less racist, because I'm NOT racist; in my opinion, any white kids who dress all Gothic and wear trench coats to school...what do they call them these days? Emo kids?  I think THEY should be profiled too.  Some people who look like you other Emo kids who just want to "Rage Against the Machine" and peacefully mind there own business and listen to heavy metal fucked it up for the rest of you...too bad.  Deal with it.  When my kids go to school in a couple years, you're damn right I'm going to personally check out every Emo kid and Muslim kid in their schools.  Call me crazy, but you can thank Osama Bin Laden, Eric Reid, Eric Harris, and Dylan Klebold.  I'll be damned if MY kids are gonna get shot up just because they want to play sports or are popular or aren't Muslim. Fuck that noise.  I'll run a full background check on anybody I think is suspect, and I don't care what people think of me.  These are the times we live in.

Back to the Holiday Season.  Merry Christmas everyone.  Merry Christmas especially to those Americans serving this year overseas and Merry Christmas to their families who will be spending Christmas thousands of miles away from their loved ones.  Happy Hanukkah to the Jewish soldiers and THEIR families, and whatever else you want to say to them individually.  Don't lump them all in to "Happy Holidays."  Charlie Brown deserves better.  Are they going to rename it "Charlie Brown's Holiday Special."  How about Chevy Chase in "National Lampoon's Holiday Vacation."  "A Holiday Story" where Ralphie shoots his eye out?  I know, let's rename "A Christmas Carol" written by Charles Dickens in 1843 to "A Holiday Carol."

So this week's giant "Fuck You" goes to the politicians and corporations who think it's such a great idea to change every tradition that everyone has known since they were born.

Have some fucking common sense people.  And this is coming from someone who asks, "What the hell has Jesus Christ done for me lately?"