Dime a Dozen

It was a slow day, around 10:00 in the morning.  Sunny, probably around 50 or 60 degrees, with just a slight spring breeze.  The radio had been quiet for some time.  As I sat in a parking lot running radar, a little black Ford Ranger went buzzing by at 50 in a 35; enough to get my attention if nothing else.  

I whipped my trusty Crown Victoria onto the street and caught up to the public menace.  "741: I'm traffic at 36th and Capehart," I said into my radio, letting my dispatcher know what I was up to.  

"Go ahead", she replied, waiting for me to give a plate.

"Nebraska: Robert Nora Frank, 596 on a black Ford Ranger."  That's RNF 596 in our phonetic alphabet. 

I walked up to the driver and was about to go into my usual routine when I noticed it.  Down near his left hip, tucked into his belt, a glint had caught my eye.  I was just glancing down at it when he said, "I'm off duty."  It was his badge.  At that moment I knew we were both thinking the same thing: 15 over is a dime a dozen. 

"741 in service, verbal warning."  

 

Do Good || Be Strong || Fear Nothing