Have a Very Beary Day (Chapter 3: Drop the Ding-Dong and No One Gets Hurt)

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I stared at the rent-a-cops putting in at the speed of sound, which sounded a lot like this, “putt-putt-putt-putt”. And although a three-legged, elderly, constipated dog could have outrun that scooter, I figured a life on the run with a hyperactive incontinent 6-year old wasn’t the life for me. So I stood there, and I waited, and I waited and waited. As the seconds turned to minutes, and the minutes into hours, and the hours into days like sands through an hourglass, I began thinking about who was to blame for our current fiasco. The innocent, don’t-know-no-better, frosted side that brings out the kid in me thought that I was to blame. My nephew, Wyatt, was a product of his environment. He was an excitable youngster already and I certainly got him all worked up about this Build-A-Bear thing, and hence the problem turd was born. Then, after the said dump was produced, in a classic case of textbook denial, I refused to believe or trust him when he claimed responsibility, and this led to a vocal battle between his honest id and my stubborn ego, a battle which culminated in our untimely misfortune. However, the dried-out, crappy side that brings out the selfish dick in me thought that he is the one that brought this predicament upon us with his explosive and undisciplined bowels. When I was six I was working on finding the inverse relationship between the theory of relativity and the square root of pi. At the same age, he is trying to make it a whole day without filling his drawers with dung. Edge: Onionhead.

The mall cops finally pulled up, and after the driver lifted his sizeable belly over the steering wheel, they approached us carefully, with their hands caressing the tops of their holstered walkie-talkies.

“Well, well, well, what have we here”, said the fat one.

After all the thinking I had just done, I realized that now was the time to be truthful, to be the man in charge, and to take responsibility for my actions.

“That’s your man”, I said as I pointed my finger to my nephew.

“This little guy right here is the cause of the ruckus?” said the other fat one. (OK they were both fat. Yeah I know, stereotypical. But i ain't exactly twiggy, so it's OK cause we down like that.)

“Ruckus? There was hardly a ruckus, Officer.”

“Well, we got a report from a frantic lady about a guy in the parking lot who was yelling at a little kid to ‘take your pants off’. She said he was creepy looking with a large head and big bug eyes.”

Bitch.

“Actually sir, she’s mistaken. I said ‘pull down your pants’ not ‘take your pants off’. So you see, she’s obviously a nutjob. Now if you’ll excuse us, we are running a little late here”. I figured after pointing out the flaws in my accusers story we could be on our merry way so I tried to casually walk between them, but I was belly blocked, by dos bellies del grande.

“Not so fast mister. You got some splainin’ to do.”

“Got some Splainin? You mean ‘have some ex-plain-ing’ right? The ex isn’t silent. Check your dictionary when you get home tonight.”

I know, I know, now was not the time to be correcting people’s grammar, but it was such an awful violation of the English language that I couldn’t let it slide. Typical Southern Lazy Tongue Syndrome, and we wonder why people call us hicks down here.

“I’m da one asking the questions, mister fancypants college boy. Now you just respect the badge, ya hear.”

I looked up and down his shirt for a badge, but all I saw was a jelly donut stain and a nametag that said ‘STEVE”.

“Yeah sure thing, Steve.”

“Hey, that’s Officer Steve to you.” said the other fat one defending his sensitive comrade.

“Oh I’m so sorry, where is my mind? Yes sir, Officer Steve sir. Hey, thanks for pointing that out Bob.”

“THAT’S OFFICER BOB!”

whoops.

Since Officer Bob and Officer Steve weren’t the sharpest tacks on the board I had to sit there and “splain” the whole “sitcheeashon” to them. After storytelling hour was over I got a good lecture from these heroic men in uniform.

“Listen to me, boy. From now on when your nephew tell you he committed a 220 in his pants, do not question him. A kid just ain’t gonna be fibbin’ bout nuthin as shameful as that y’hear me?”

“Yes sir, Officer Steve, sir.”

“Cause if you do ain’t nuthin good goin’ to come from it. Yure goin to hafta frisk his drawers and to the ordinary civilian that’s gonna look like yure committing a fahv-40-fahv. Den someone's gonna call us and we goin to be up on ya, y’hear?”

“Loud and clear Officer Bob, sir”

Meanwhile back in the English-speaking world, my attention whore nephew had wandered his way to the back of the scooter where he discovered a half-eaten box of Hostess Ding-Dongs.

“Hey look at all the cupcakes, Uncle Onionhead!” my nephew squealed.

“Sweet baby Jesus those are Ding-Dongs, son!” cried Officer Steve. He turned back to me. “Your nephew don’t know the difference ‘tween a Ding-Dong and a cupcake. What are they teaching deese kids in school deese days?”

“I have no idea sir. Wyatt, you leave the nice mens’ Ding-Dongs alone.”

Officer Steve had a good point, however I don’t think they were taking into account he was only six years old. I mean the world of snack cakes was a complicated one. Sometimes the only difference between one snack cake and another may be a squiggly line of icing on the top. To totally appreciate the nuances and distinctions between each individually wrapped cake can take years of experimentation to refine. Obviously Officer Steve, Officer Bob, and myself all had those years of experience under our belts, not to mention an extra layer of blubber for the brutal North Carolina winter.

“Dontcha lay a finger on ‘em son. Dat raht dare is evidence”, claimed officer Bob.

“Evidence?” I said.

“Dats raht evidence. We busted an organized fencing ring raht hur in da parking lot, not but a few ars ago. Uhhhhh…Ain’t that that raht Officer Steve.”

"Yup, a shifty looking gang they was. Four stoned out college kids. A gay sailor, a bimbo, one of dem lesbuns, and a stinky hippy. Oh yeah they had a mutt too. Started driving away in one of dem psycho-delic van called the ‘Mystery Machine’ before we came up on ‘em and put and end to their hijinks.”

“And they would have gotten away with it, if it weren’t for you meddling mall cops”, I said, disrespecting the nametag, I mean badge, again.

Before they could reprimand me I was saved by an urgent call into Officer Steve’s walkie-talkie.

“4-Adam-12, 4-Adam-12. Come in. Over”

“4-Adam-12 in. Over.”

“There’s a 227 in progress over at the Mrs. Fields Kiosk. Request backup. Over.”

“4-Adam-12 providing backup. Our ETA is less than 5 minutes. Hold your position, help is on the way. Over.”

“Omigod!” I said “Is there a robbery in progress?”

“No sir” said officer Steve. “Hot Fresh Chocolate Chunk Cookies are coming out of the oven. We don’t have time to chit-chat. Our motto is to protect and to serve. And we are about to be served hot delicious cookies. Nothing to see here, go home to your families, carry on.”

And with that they both weeble-wobbled into the scooter and putted away as slowly as they came. I looked over at my nephew and he had a big smile on his face.

“What are you smiling about?”

“Look what I got”, he said as he hoisted up two Ding-Dongs he snagged out of the scooter.

I couldn’t believe it. That little shit stole from the cops. OK so they weren’t exactly cops, they were idiots, but they sure thought they were cops. I felt a lecture coming on in my mind, but I was hungry, so my stomach overruled it.

“Can I have one” I asked.

“NO!” he yelled, and he took off running and laughing. I chased him and grabbed him from behind..

“YOU BETTER GIVE ME THAT DING-DONG YOU LITTLE RASCAL!”

Just then I saw that same woman walking back to her car with her two kids in hand, frozen with that oddly familiar look of horror on her face. Déjà vu is a bitch. Once again I felt the need to explain (‘splain).

“Oh hello again. Haha! My nephew here has some snack cakes behind his back and I’m hungry and …hey where are you going…hey, hey comeback here….OH NOOOOO, not again!!!!! It’s not what it looks like…DAY-UMMMMM!!!!

She took off this time so fast that her kids were running behind to keep up. I looked over at my nephew and grabbed him by the hand.

“We’ll eat in the car. It’s time to roll dawg.”