A Police Response

(I am at a Halloween festival with my five-year-old son and a lady friend. I am a nurse at an E.R., and I run into a guy I oftentimes see at work, but haven’t really gotten to know. He’s one of the NYPD who bring the craziest, most combative patients to our E.R. He is in his uniform, and carrying a baby dressed as Cookie Monster.)

Cop: “Happy Halloween! No work today?”

Me: “My body is here, while my spirit is actually starting an IV line at work.”

Lady Friend: *obviously flirting* “Are you a real cop, or is that just a costume?”

Cop: “Real cop, real costume.”

(My son decides to interrupt out of nowhere.)

Son: “It’s called a UNIFORM!”

Me: “Sorry, that’s my husband’s crazy son from his other wife.”

(I shove my son behind my back.)

Lady Friend: “So, where’s the baby’s mommy?”

Cop: “Oh, divorced since last month. Free at last! We’re lining up for the Pony Ride. You have a great time with the kids. See you in the E.R.!”

(The cop walks away, and my lady friend turns to me.)

Lady Friend: “Seriously? You couldn’t introduce me to him, or get his number?”

Me: “It’s because I don’t know his name.”

Lady Friend: “Get his number for me! He’s really hot!”

Son: “Goodness gracious! Grown-ups are so stupid! Everybody knows his number!”

Lady Friend: “Okay then, what’s his number, smarty pants?”

Son: “Easy-peasy. It’s 911, duh!”