Government Snooping -- Infilitrate, Big or Small

I carefully studied my instructions under a streetlight.
The lighting made it look very weird, kind of a greenish yellow.
I was struck. The color's so weird.

But there it was, in the bad light. A mysterious ticker tape printer in a culvert, right where the voice on the phone told me it'd be. Low, husky, likely a man, maybe a big woman. I'd been recruited into an elite cadre of government spies. Which is very cool for me in particular, having been as a child not just a member of the Spy Club, but its baton twirler.

I wasn't a bit afraid. Even though usually when I get weird calls, anonymous, unannounced calls, I'm paranoid as hell. It looks like I'm getting hardened to it. I've gotten worse calls. It used to always be some unknown guy saying, "I know where you go ... and I know what you do there ..." I always hated that. Because, honestly, I never went there, and, besides, I don't remember doing anything that was so bad.

This new voice, even though it was a big woman trying to sound like a man, wasn't threatening at all. I heard something of benevolence in it. Saying between the lines that I was trusted with a task, which, if I'm not mistaken, is something the government is putting forth to every citizen they trust. And, yes, the government can trust me. I hereby raise my right hand and solemnly swear that I will protect this nation from all enemies, foreign and domestic. Looks like domestic, since it's local here.

You see my instructions. There's no particular task. Just "INFILTRATE," with the unspecific, but assuring, "EVERY LITTLE THING HELPS." And I like the pleasant nod to modern linguistic conventions, showing that we're not taking ourselves too seriously here, no doubt meant to put me and my fellow trusted citizens completely at our ease, "GO 4 IT."

This is the kind of task I like. I can set my own goals. And I obviously have plausible deniability if I'm nabbed by a saboteur, "I know nothing. I'm digging in your garbage for recycling."

All right, I got this message a week ago tonight, and I got right on the job. Since "EVERY LITTLE THING HELPS," that's what I started with. It gave me a great excuse to go to the river. But not just anyplace. I wanted to go to the backwoods. There's a place back there where a gang of guys called the Backwoods Men live. I've always been suspicious of those guys. We have a law here that in fishing you can only use one hook for one line, no more.

I was successful at infiltrating their place by the river. When, Holy Cow, what did I find? Not only did they have poles lined up on the bank, I pulled in a couple and they had a dozen hooks apiece! So I pulled in the rest and left them lay on the bank. It would be a big surprise to them in the morning!

Also, I did some reconnaissance around their property -- the dog was sleeping -- and noticed what turned out to be some '60s vintage Do-it-Yourself Heathkit nuclear missiles, lined up in homemade silos, and aimed toward town. I moved them off kilter, so when they're fired they'll rocket straight up and -- I hope -- destroy the Backwoods Men themselves.

The next day I was up with the roosters, 9:00, and went to troll Goodwill for what I might find. The problem with Goodwill is it's completely unregulated. You can buy stuff anonymously. It's not necessarily scanned, it's cash transactions. Theoretically, it's the world's best place to make a terror connection, because you can leave notes in a particular jacket, say, then someone comes along and gets it. Well, the bottom line is, I did my best, so sue me.

Methodically, I took each jacket, one at a time, to the dressing room, and went through the pockets. Noon came and went, then 2 p.m., before I was finished. But nothing. Then as I'm leaving, some madman goes running out of the store, and runs straight into a city bus, blowing up himself and 40 passengers, an inferno. The note had been in a pair of pants ... damn it! But 'every little bit helps,' I'm telling myself.

This actually taught me a lesson, that to catch terrorists, you need to think like a terrorist. We think they sleep in the day when we're all awake. That's what they want you to think. But, thinking like a terrorist, why would they do that? No, naturally they'd sleep during the night just like anyone else. But they're tricky, see? That's actually what they want us to think. Taking it one step further, they do sleep during the day when we're awake. Then use the "cover of night," when we least expect it, to do their flight training.

So I went to the airport, the local airport, late at night. I flashed my ticker tape at the door and got right in. I yelled, "Stop that plane!" They radioed out and brought back a disgruntled man in a business suit. The president of our biggest industry, headed for a convention. So we let him go. Next, I told them to stop a second plane. The boss of the airport headed for a convention. So we also let him go.

That left a third plane. But by now I was gun shy and didn't stop him. I made a mistake! He simply took to the air and immediately shot down the other two planes, killing both distinguished men and their pilots and fleeing. Next time, I resolved, slamming my fist on the desk, that guy gets stopped first!

Zero to 60 -- A Speeding Ticket Reverie

When it comes to crime, we're all thankful for speeding. There may not be anything too dangerous about it for society, like going 40 on a stretch where the speed limit is normally 40 (but it's been reduced to 25 for road work soon to begin), but it's a crime nonetheless. And that's free money for us, society, not only to pay the cops there on the job, but to fund other things.

Of course you hate it when it's you getting the fine. And maybe you feel for the other guy -- I personally don't -- but still, Better him than me / Better him than me / One thing I can say for sure / Better him than me. I myself haven't gotten a speeding ticket since the early '80s -- knock on wood -- so that's 30 years! Pretty good, huh?

What I should've been doing over the last 30 years, other than maybe getting married and having someone now to share my dotage, was putting back money in case I did get a ticket. Really, think how much I could've saved by now. Like if I'd only saved 50 bucks a year -- that'd be easy enough -- I would've had $1500! I can't believe I never thought of this till today. It makes me wonder what other great ideas I've overlooked...

If I would've had $1500, let's imagine, I could do all kinds of things if I suddenly got a ticket. Like mess with the cop's head, talking back, trash talking, etc. Acting like I didn't care, letting my dog out to pee on his leg, etc. I'm bubbling over here thinking of it! Plus, throw in that I had a wife or co-husband; we could be engaging in a domestic quarrel right then and there! With $1500 to work with, we'd put on a real production!

Here's what actually happened today. I'm coming over the hill and there's the cop. It's now a 25 mph zone and I'm going maybe 29. He's got the radar gun. There's other cars but I'm in front. I drop the speed slightly, but not to 25. I thought, "He's looking for someone faster." And, wow, before I went another 300 yards, he zipped out, lights going, and was pulling over some other guy. I sang my Better him than me song and proceeded on my way.

But what if it'd been me ... and I had my $1500 ... and a wife or co-husband? The idiot wouldn't have stood a chance! I would've dressed him down like the season's first deer and trussed him up like the last turkey. If you know what I mean. "What seems to be the trouble, Durwood, er, I mean Officer?" Then he tells me I was going 40 in a 25 zone, which till a month ago was a 40. "You stopped me to tell me that? Too much time on your hands, is that the problem?" Suddenly he notices my snotty tone, already over the top.

So there's the first ticket, a measly $45. I'm like, "Look, Durwood, I pay your salary. OK? And I don't feel like I'm getting my money's worth. You've probably wasted $100 in gas just sitting there. $45? You're an idiot." He's very mad now. "Sir, just so you get your 'money's worth,' the fine has now doubled -- it's $90." But I'm only more enraged, "Anyone with half a brain would've tripled it." Now he's on to me, "I tell you what, I'll quadruple it. Your fine is now $180!"

The spouse interferes, in this scenario a wife. "You stupid pig," she says to me. I whack her, which brings a fine for domestic abuse. "It's $45 for whacking my wife? That's all? Fine, I'll whack her again!"

Just then, my dog jumps out, and has the cop by the pant leg. Big penetrating teeth, and a jaw that doesn't quit. Ripping it up the leg, what a sight. Then she pees on his foot. And if that isn't enough, she runs to the hydrant, forgets she's a girl, and pees Yellow River against that municipal plug. It's only a $90 fine for all that. Twice as much as hitting my wife one time! That's an insult to her and me each. "Either double the first fine," I demand, "or cut the second in half!"

Well, there's good news and bad news. He does double the first fine, the domestic. But the dog has other problems, missing her tags, her shots aren't up to date, and we left her leash at home. Hundreds of dollars in fines. Not only that -- at this point the story gets real sad -- she's running to the other side of the street and won't come back. Criminal trespass and failure to yield. The cop tells me that for public safety I need to get in my car ... now ... and abandon her.

I do so. Which turns out to have deadly consequences. Because, you see, when I got her she was a retired police dog. OK? She was trained in bomb-sniffing but got too old to do it 100% reliably. Well, no one knew this -- I had no way of knowing -- but at some point an actual criminal had rigged the cop's car with a bomb. And seconds after the cop told me to take off -- and we're still trying to figure out what really happened -- she came back toward the police car, and apparently sniffed out the bomb. But with her worsened ability to smell, she got way too close and detonated it, blowing herself, the car, and the policeman to smithereens.

The good news in all that, and it's something you really have to look for to find, is that the city's copies of my tickets were all burnt in the explosion. Meaning not only do I still have the $1500, but my driving record is as spotless as ever.