You Can't Whistle An AC/DC Song

Or so I discovered as I was coming home last night. I caught myself trying to whistle the song I'd just heard on the radio, and it was pretty stupid-sounding. Not that it doesn't have a melody, but it just doesn't fall off your lips like, say, even Sad But True by Metallica.

And just where is this little life lesson going to take me? Well, nowhere I guess. It's most likely one of those seemingly useless factoids I tend to carry around with me that do nothing except help me win at Jeopardy on the occasional night I might be caught watching it. Otherwise, I have no use for knowing that more people are killed annually by donkeys than in plane crashes, or that dragonflies are one of the fastest insects out there, able to fly upwards of 50-60 miles an hour. You know, the things that would never save someone's life or get you out of a speeding ticket. I suppose I could astound the policeman with some stunning fact that so bemuses him I avoid the ticket, but it's highly unlikely.

And in case you're wondering, no, I haven't had the chance to try. Oh, I might try a bad joke just to get the police officer to laugh, but if I was speeding, I should have known better. Though I have to admit there's still a small part of me that's still a little peeved about getting a $97 ticket for going 7 mph over the limit on a dead stretch of a San Jose highway at 1 am -- ironically, the same exact place a friend of mine got a $42 ticket for going 20 mph over the speed limit in the middle of the day.

My one experience with a "quota ticket."

Normally, I have every single respect for police officers. They do amazing things every day of their lives, whether they think they do or not. But I have to admit that the traffic cops in San Jose gave me numerous reasons to lose respect for them. For one thing, they would continually speed past me on the highways when I was already going a good 10 mph or more over the limit (just so I wouldn't get flattened by the other drivers around me). And the big one was when I was on SJSU campus one afternoon, and nearly got creamed by a traffic patrol car that slammed through a 4-way stop (I had the right of way, both as a pedestrian in a crosswalk and the fact I hit the intersection first). When I found another police officer there on campus, I went up to him and explained to him what happened, and stated that I wanted to lodge a complaint.

He glared at me and said, "Yeah, so what? What do you want me to do about it?"

I looked at him a moment and said as politely as I could, "Well, thank you, officer. I feel much safer knowing that attitude is rampant in your place of work. Nice way to serve and protect."

I could see in his eyes he really wanted to say something (I even want to say he may have hated me for saying that), but I didn't give him the chance as I turned and walked away. It was so stupid I couldn’t even really feel any rage on my part. Just disgust.

The patrol police in San Jose I still had respect for, but the traffic ones -- well, in my opinion they need a tune-up in the attitude and awareness department. It's one thing to stick up for a colleague, but if I had someone telling me, "Your fellow officer nearly killed me when he ran a stop sign," (and, no, his lights weren't on, and there wasn't an emergency; it was the middle of the afternoon on campus), I'd be a little more concerned -- rather than having a reaction like I'd just told him I'd seen something happen over which he had no control -- say, along the lines of my saying, "I don't like the color your colleague painted his house."

But then, that's just me.

I can understand becoming jaded and cynical, especially in a job like that. You can see a lot of stuff that could make even the brightest optimist begin to see the possibility that maybe the glass is half empty rather than half full; there are times even in my job I can feel that, despite the fact I adore what I do, and I'm never ceased to be amazed at the people who come to us for help and the people with whom I work. My job, however, doesn’t carry the same kind of danger as a police officer, of course (though sometimes I can feel just as jaded -- side case in point: a woman insisted we were double-charging her, and when we couldn't find evidence of that happening, we asked her to fax us a copy of her credit card statement. What does she send us? A photocopy of the front and back of her credit card....)

So danger, no. But the cynicism can creep in. Overall, please know, I have deep admiration for police officers. I just think the ones with whom I had interactions in San Jose are a poor example for representing the men and women who work their tails off to make sure I can walk down the streets of Portland, even at night after a concert perhaps, and feel safe. For the most part I did in San Jose as well, because I knew that there were other police officers who truly believed in their oath to protect and serve. There's always going to be a few bad apples in the bunch, I know. But it's still disheartening to come across them, especially when you have deep admiration and respect for the profession.

Hey -- I still get all weepy-feeling when I see an ambulance or fire truck or police car whiz past, lights flashing, sirens going, risking themselves to make sure they get to someone who needs them. It's more than the little kid in me that still thinks "diggers"(as my brother Andrew called them when he was little) and backhoes at work are really cool, it's the swirling sense in my heart of seeing another human being caring for someone else. It doesn't take much to show that, really.

It's why, when I can, I give money to a man who waits patiently at the on-ramp near where I work. Not a lot, but just whatever I might have in my wallet, as I don't carry much cash with me. I've never seen him drinking (I often watch him as I'm creeping forward in my line), and he never sounds or acts drunk when I talk to him.

Normally I don't hand out money to people. But there was something I liked and immediately respected about him the moment I saw him. His bearing was full of the pride and dignity, despite the fact I could tell it was very hard for him to do what he was doing. I believed what I saw and read on his sign (homeless, family). He's always clean-looking (though his clothes and haircut are a bit on the shabby and shaggy side), walks stiffly with a cane, and the times I've talked to him as I've given him a few dollars, I've learned that he's a Vietnam veteran, votes Democrat, is up on current events beyond what I am, and has a very funny sense of humor. And I know that his name is Robert. The deep appreciation that came into his eyes and the way his bearing softened when I asked him what his name was left me wanting to cry the rest of the way home.

And it made me wonder when the last time was someone actually acknowledged him as a human being. Something, I think, we tend to forget to do in our own busy lives as we go from errand to errand, email to email. The woman who often rings up my purchases at Haggen at lunch is named Barbara, she loves Kenny Rogers, likes to go to the casinos occasionally with her boyfriend, and has three horses she loves to ride. Another girl there at the store (she's newer and so I can't quite remember her name) has a roommate that she spent last weekend with pigging out on reduced fat Triscuits and cheese as they watched old, silly movies and gave themselves manicures.

These, to me, are treasures. Maybe a somewhat sappy term, but I love knowing these things about the people with whom I interact. Knowing what I know about the dragon fly or donkeys and airplanes might win me $50 in a trivia contest (or that AC/CD doesn't compose melodies one can whistle), but knowing what I've learned about these people I can carry with me for much longer than that prize money will last.