Comfort

If I were in your shoes, I would have probably preempted my request with a more respectful title, like sir, or officer, and not the more colorful title you chose. I can only assume you didn’t really want me to get you a pair of pants to wear to jail, but rather, you were just looking for an excuse to refer to me as a fornicating swine.

You obviously haven’t figured out that I have the ability to make your night much less comfortable, and believe me, some never do. I’m not talking about putting an elbow in your ear when no one can see us, or braking for a phantom deer on the way to the jail. I’m talking about grabbing a sweatshirt for you to wear for the eight hours you’re going to be sitting in booking, or bringing your cell phone so you can call for a ride when you get released.

There are only a few things I’m required to provide for you, and being comfortable isn’t one of them. Let me know how calling people names works out for you at the jail. They’ll probably want to fast-track you through the system so you can be on your way as soon as possible, or not.

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