THE COP

So I am at my assigned desk this afternoon, telemarketing, alongside my 100+ fellow telemarketers, and up steps my boss.

"Finish the call you're on," she says, "and then there's a cop here who wants to talk to you."

Now, I would imagine those would be unsettling words to anyone, regardless of any past arrests or jail time.

So.

I don't even bother finishing up my call. I simply hang up on the woman at the commercial print shop. My heart is in my throat anyway, thumping like mad, so how in the fuck could I have possibly talked to her even if I wanted to?

My mind is racing. And I know I've done nothing wrong, but that hasn't necessarily stopped cops in the past.
Cops are not necessarily concerned with fact, despite what Sgt. Friday might like you to believe. After all, they chose a profession of legal bullying for a reason.

But anyway.

As it turns out, he is there to serve me with a protection order.

My ex, who has a knack for dramatics, had them serve me at work, with this thing.

Apparently she believes I want to be in her life. And would somehow try to force my way into it.

But the truth is, I could care less.

Seriously.

There are plenty of other belligerent bipolar alcoholic chicks out there.

The only thing that pisses me off is her feeling like she needed to make her little jab at my place of employment.

You win.

I was humiliated at work. So, congratulations to you. You win.

I'm not sure what your prize is, but I hope it brings a smile to your poisonous little lips.