Smoke signals, Or what color is my Conclave?

With the death of the old Pope, the Conclave of Cardinals will soon begin a search among their own ranks and vote for a new Pope. After each day's debate and vote jockeying, the public will be alerted by colored smoke as to the results of the proceedings:

White smoke = We have a new Pope. Let the kissing of his knuckles begin.
Black smoke = We are still without one. Please stop ringing the doorbell.
Red smoke = One or more Cardinals fell into the chimney. Send for bandages and morphine.
Pink smoke = Surf N' Turf all gone. We told you 118 platters weren't enough!
Purple smoke = The Kool Aid tastes funny. Getting sleepy.
Blue smoke = Ebola spreading out of control. Note to world: Monkey meat not so good after all.
Yellow smoke = Need more game pieces. Lost Professor Mustard card.
Orange smoke = To the Protestants of the world: You got served! Catholics are in the house again!
Green smoke = We, the Opus Dei, have seized control of the Papacy. To start, bring forth to us the pretty girls. Then the not so pretty ones. Then the boys. But only the pretty ones.

NYPD Duh

A Chinese restaurant deliveryman was trapped in the elevator for about 80 hours while the NYPD searched the entire apartment complex, not realizing that an out of order elevator might be the reason for the poor guy's disappearance. All he needed was one astute cop to wonder "Hey, maybe we should check this out." That's what happens on t.v. and in the movies, right? But in my line of work, I've dealt with some cops who might actually have been part of the search party...

1. A few years ago, one of our clients disappeared. We filed a missing person report with the local precinct. We gave information to the detective about his usual hangouts. We told them that he was extremely ill and might be in a hospital or arrested under an assumed name. Two weeks later, I'm reading the police blotter in the local paper. In it is a story about how my client was arrested and sent to a hospital for observation. I wait a few days to see if the detective calls to say that he found him. Nothing. I call him. He tells me that he hasn't read the paper. So I fax to him the copy of the article. I see my client and am told that no police detective has come by to check up on him. This is why I place little faith in filing missing person reports. Unless you're a child or a white woman, the police don't really put much effort into locating you, even if someone tells them that you are ill. What ultimately kills me about this story is that the detective probably got credit for finding him...

2. A few years ago (again), I executed a warrant to have a client be taken before a judge to determine whether or not he should be hospitalized. The cops came and we all went to court. The judge ruled that the guy needed observation in the local hospital. The only problem was that when it came time to go, the cops who orignally came with me had been told that they were being sent somewhere else. Another cop was called to help me, but he didn't have a car. He happened to be on a scooter when he got the call. So he called for a car. We ended up waiting in court for three hours before one finally came. Meanwhile, my poor client was handcuffed the whole time. Actually, thinking back on it, he probably had the best time while lying on the bench.

3. We had this one client who was a big problem, doing drugs and just threatening people on and off. Finally we had it one day. We called the cops. The guy left the building but was hanging around the block. When a patrol car finally came to the building, we pointed out to them that the guy was hanging out at the corner. He saw them and then began to walk away. The cop at the steering wheel said: "I'm not chasing him. Give us a call when he comes back to the building."

4. On a related story, we had another client who was also harassing some people. One of my staff saw a patrol car drive by. He hailed it down. He said that the guy might have a knife. The cops told him: "We're from another precinct. There's nothing we can do. You have to call 911."

5. We had another client who was heavily into heroin. When he was high, he was a real problem. After we sent him to the hospital one day, we came across about two bundles of heroin (about ten packets to a bundle). We isolated the room and called the cops. The precinct sent two cops to pick up the bundles. We were so sure that they were going to arrest him and that would save us the problem of closing out his case. To this day, they have never sent a detective to question us and he was never arrested for possession.

I like cops, actually. Most of the dealings we have with them have been very positive. But like any large organization, some cops just don't want to do their job. The department's motto is "Fidelis Ad Mortem," which means "Faithful until Death." I don't expect them to die for us, but a little sweat and common sense might be appreciated.

In praise of Whitey, or why I like white shirts

This morning, I reached into my closet and discovered that I only had one shirt that did not resemble a crumpled up piece of kleenex: a white, oxford shirt. I wore it without a tie because if I had, people at the office would be asking if I had a job interview. The only other time I wore a tie to the office this whole year was when I was at a board meeting a few weeks ago. I looked pretty good then, but I didn't feel as nice as I did today. My white undershirt just peeked out where the collar opens, creating a relaxed look.

Why am I writing about a white shirt? Because it becomes apparent to me that when all else fails in a man's closet, it will save the day.

Going to a wedding? White shirt.
Baby shower? White shirt.
Interview? White shirt.
Pretending to be a doctor? White shirt.
Testifying before a judge? White shirt.

Don't believe its power? This morning, one of my clients came into my office. He said that I looked pretty good. I asked in what way. He said that I looked like I meant business. This made it easier for me to tell him what he needed to do for the rest of the day. Then I interviewed three applicants for tenancy at the residence. They all called me "sir." Usually the interviews are more informal, but their eyes were hypontized by the pure whiteness of my shirt. I could understand why the pope wore white...

Some may argue that the white shirt is bland. Old-fashioned. Miles away from cutting edge nouveau mode. And they are all correct. But it is also a permanent imprint in our minds of someone with some authority. Be sure to wear collared white shirts. The collarless ones are ridiculous looking and seem incomplete. I just mentioned the pope. He doesn't wear shirts. It's more of a tunic or vestment that he dons. I'm not talking about those.

Unfortunately, the white shirt doesn't make anyone younger than 17 look any older or more professional. For some reason, it makes them look even more juvenile. Alas, it cannot rescue all males. Just men.

By the way, it does help to groom as well. Comb your hair. Add a little gel or wax to conquer those cowlicks. A shaved head is even better. The shirt will create an austere, clean image that will intimidate friend and foe alike...for a moment. If you know how to take advantage of a moment, the white shirt can only help.

Gnu Dywreckshion

Yo yo yo! I kno dat I bin away for sum time, but it's aight b/c I'm moving my blog in a gnu dywreckshion. Starting tomorrow, I'm gonna be review hip-hop and speaking like all da kwelest kidds and lissening to HOT 97 and I'm gonna be real, keepin it street, so if y'all don't like it, tuff!

Boy, that really was tough to write. It actually hurt my brain.

March was a tough month. A lot of family issues to take care of and worry about. Taxes to do. Busy at work. And when I tried to think of something funny to write about, I really wasn't ready. There was a lot in the news. Terri Schiavo. The Pope. Terri Schiavo. Death. Hiralious, no?

But I'm working my way back from a slight depression. I'll be ready next week. By the way, don't miss the season finale of Battlestar Galactica. Should be spectacular. It's got to be better than the American version of The Office...