Coffeehouse Chronicles …and Ev’ryone Wanna Be the PO-leece
- Marc & Bridget Saunders
- Oct 5
- 3 min read
Hey there! Happy Sunday, peeps!
Yeah, it’s just as they say, “All good things must come to an end,” and this campout has reached its last day. I can tell you that our Wagon Masters are certainly happy that they can finally shut down and take a sigh of relief. The First Lady and Captain, with the dutiful assistance from their spouses, the Right Reverend Doctor and Tenille, put on a stupendous soiree! From the food to the wine tasting to the lost bike ride, everyone had a blast.
Yesterday started with a continental breakfast, which led to a very effective and informative club meeting. Then it adjourned to smaller groups around the patio and the roadway in front of our campsites, and we reminisced about the good times we had during the week. Some people napped in their coaches. Others gathered around the TVs outside our coaches to watch some college football, while we smoked cigars, waiting for the Dodger game later. At the same time, another nameless individual ran to their coach and hugged their collection of rubber clogs. You have to picture a hunchback hobbit-like creature, slobbering over his Crocs, caressing them, and referring to his shoe collection as “My Precious.”
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Just before the meeting, much to the surprise of the Trailboss, the “Secret Sheriff” made an appearance. Reason one being that our Secret Sheriff does not usually make an appearance until after the club meeting, where he or she doles out 25-cent fines for club “violations” that are not real violations but a silly way to poke fun at each other for wearing the wrong color Croc, celebrating too much or too soon during a domino game, and so forth. Reason two: The Secret Sheriff’s identity is known only to two people: the Secret Sheriff themselves and the Traillboss, who appoints the Secret Sheriff at the beginning of the campout. For those of you still in the dark, the Trailboss happens to be none other than the HB, whom I was sitting next to when the fake Secret Sheriff came out.
“What is he doing? That is NOT the Secret Sheriff,” the HB declared.
Everyone laughed and enjoyed the show, because, quite honestly, the Secret Sheriff was pretty funny. The Secret Sheriff left, but curiously, no one had been fined.
Well, now, that was odd.
Cmdr McCroc scanned the crowd and, being a former Big City Detective, he quickly surmised who was missing and determined that the Secret Sheriff had to be the Hose Jockey. McCroc noticed that he was the only one missing while the Secret Sheriff was entertaining. That, and McCroc overheard Mrs. Hose Jockey talking to her sister-in-law, Mary Mary, Quite Contrary, “How in the H-E-double hockey sticks did he get that all past me?”
McCroc, quite smugly announced to the table, “I solved that one! You can’t get one over me!”
To which the HB whined, “But he’s not the Secret Sheriff! I know who it is, and it’s not him!” No one at our table heard her, because we were all busy patting McCroc on the back, congratulating him for his keen eye and Sherlock Holmes-like intuition.
The meeting continued without further interruption, and then just as we were about to adjourn, the HB declared that it was time for the Secret Sheriff.
“No, it’s not,” I pointed out, “he came out earlier.”
The HB leaned forward with one hand on her hip, the other outstretched, pointing at the Hose Jockey, looking a lot like the blonde in the meme where she was pointing at the cat, and forcefully, with conviction, “HE IS NOT THE SECRET SHERIFF!” She then walked over to the Future Mrs. Jones and handed her the badge.
McCroc and I sat next to each other in silence, staring off in different directions, trying not to make eye contact with the HB, as the Future Mrs. Jones handed out camping fines, just as if she were giving out candy on Halloween night. We both decided, wisely, that the HB probably knew better than us, who she had deputized, and it was not in our purview to question her decision.
Separately, McCroc and I decided that we were going to take the Hose Jockey into custody and detain him for impersonating a police officer. Yup, that’s right, folks, firemen have heroes too. Everybody wanna be the bitchin’ dude. We’re gonna have Judge Ransom run him up. We hear that she’s a hanging judge.
You know what to do! Drink ‘em if you got ‘em!
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