Chabo's Journal: Of cats and bats and local spats

Note: This is a continuation of a series of stories written by a central Texas police officer named "Darth Tang", which are being archived by Chabo, with no editing. Read more about this project.

This story was originally posted on April 2, 2004.

So a carnival's in town, much like a boil on the ass of our burg which will crop up periodically until Labor Day. I hate carnies, who tend to have negative tooth-to-tattoo ratios and felony histories a mile long.

So, in keeping with the spirit of absolute stupidity, our City fathers agree to have a 'sweet sixteen' bash in the auditorium adjacent to said moronafest. To insure that things just keep getting better, someone at the PD fails to notice that three rookies signed up for the carnival security detail. Three absolutely green as grass rookies.

Naturally, I'm the shift commander, coming back to work after a bout of food poisoning. All I want to do is get through a quiet shift. That's all. Eight & skate. After last weekend's antics, and being sick most of the week, all I want to do is lay low, and have my guys watch our buildings like hawks while the carnies are in town contaminateing the the shallow end of the gene pool and making the Keystone Lite distributer rich.

So anyway, the bash ends, and now we've scads of lovely latinas flooding the carnival, dates in tow and dressed to the nines. Amazingly, trouble occurs. Often.

I get a paniky call on the radio from a rookie. Myself and one of my guys respond. Back of the carnival, we have a standoff. Seems a carnie closing the safety bar on a ride did it in such a fashion that the girl popped out of her low-cut sleevless gown. Boyfriend became outraged, and after the ride ended (they were the last ones getting on), he confronts the carnie. The carnie promptly punches out two of boyfriend's teeth.

This proves to be a terrible error in judgement; boyfriend is an anglo, a cowboy; girlfriend is a latina. Which means every local in eyeshot is offended. A brawl ensues as various locals unite in stomping the carnie into the aspault. Several carnies pitch in to save their buddy, and a few more locals pile on, includeing several black students from the local university who join in because it seemed like the thing to do.

The rookies pile on and break it up. Do a decent job, using the approved and tested tactic of first spraying the crowd with pepper spray, and then wadeing in and thumping anyone who missed the point that the party was over. Just about everyone followed the appropriate public brawl response, which is to grab their date and haul ass. Those who linger stoutly claim to have been bystanders and not really seen anything, all physical evidence to the contrary.

Except one moron who is backed up against a carnie cargo trailer, shirtless, with a box cutter in hand, screaming abuse at the rookies. He's not a carnie, just a local who came late to the fight and didn't want it to end.

I show up, and get briefed (he's got a box cutter! There he is!).

I advise Dippy the Wonder-Chimp he's under arrest, drop the box cutter, etc. DWC, naturally showers abuse and postures, feeling very confident with thirtysome ounces of Enlish Malt Liquor under his belt and his back to a solid surface.

I give the rookie my car keys and tell him to bring me the shotgun; my offcer and I take up position at a safe distance and wait. DWC, unaware that his number in the Beanbag Lottery is about to be drawn, continues to mouth.

Now, carnivals have lot of lights; this draws lots of bugs. Lots of them. Which attracts Mexican Brown Split-tailed bats, cute little buggers common to central Texas (Austin is a major refuge). On top of this trailer a large orange tabby is darting back and forth, happily, even frenziedly, trying to catch bats.

What exactly happened is not absolutely clear; however, by accident or bat-induced frenzy, the tabby suddenly came off the roof of the trailer, and DWC suddenly and briefly was encased in an orange furry halo.

It lasted but a second, and it left DWC dazed, shocked, and lacerated from the jawline to his naval. Taking advantage of this, we rush him and took him to the ground, where DWC made important discoveries, namely that:

Asphault + facial & nipple peirceings + thrashing around screaming, 'you ain't taking me to jail' + a police officer kneeling on his back yelling 'put your other hand on the small of your back NOW' = Seven stiches and nipples that are gonna look funny for the rest of his life. Plus a eyebrow with a scar in it.

The moral of this story is that carnivals suck.