I like to think that one of the courses you have to take to become a cop in London is the Official Sarcasm Class.
(Seargent-Instructor (SI) stands behind a podium in a typical college ampitheater. He is a thickly built man who speaks exactly like a London Bobby from central casting. )
SI : Alright then, ladies and gents, that concludes the theoretical part of your instruction and we shall now move on how to apply what you have learned in the field. I shall present you with a scenario and then call upon you to supply the correct response. Let’s start with an easy one. You are on patrol when you see a scuffle break out half a block away. You spring into action, running to the scene, and when you get there you say…
Hands go up.
SI : Alright…… you.
Student 1 is a young man of slight build and shy demeanor.
Student 1 (imitating SI) : Alright, alright, what’s all this then?
SI : Precisely! Well done. Now for something a little trickier. You are on car patrol. A recent model family vehicle tears past you at a hundred klicks. On goes the siren and you pull them over. You walk up to the open driver’s side window and say…
Hands go up.
SI : Okay…… erm, you.
Student 2 is a woman from India, and has that accent.
Student 2 (against imitating SI) : Alright, now just hold on here, where’s the bloody fire?
SI (beaming) : Absolutely correct! Write that down, people, that is the correct answer. Also, congratulations on including the officially approved intensifier “bloody”. Can anyone tell me why its use was appropriate?
Hands go up.
SI : Yes, you.
Student 3 is a tall thin British fellow with an upper class accent.
Student 3 : Because of the severity of the offense, sir?
SI : Precisely. The extreme speed of the vehicle, well above the legal limit for London street driving, meant the deployment of a mild oath like “bloody” was not only appropriate to the situation, it was, arguably, mandatory.
Student 3 : Are there circumstances where stronger language is allowed?
SI looks pensive for a moment.
SI : Well…. I’m not really supposed to tell you this but…. yes. For instance, in cases of extreme severity of offense, like the kind that puts the public at extraordinary level risk of life and limb or otherwise represents an especially strong danger to the peace and security of Londoners, you are authorized, pending review, to say “fucking” or “fuck”.
Student 2 : Can you give us an example?
SI : Well there was the time I pulled over a man who had just driven at full speed into a parade, nearly killing a dozen people, injuring nine of them, and scaring one poor horse to death. That was a scenario in which “what the bloody hell are you playing at?” seemed insufficient to the occasion.
Laughter from the students.
SI : Aside from that, there is one other scenario worth mentioning : in times of disaster or crisis wherein it is necessary to get large numbers of people out of harm’s way as quickly as possible in order to prevent loss of life, you are fully authorized to use every bloody curse word you know as long as it gets the fucking job done.
More laughter from the students.
SI : Well I can see that we are nearly out of time for today, so it’s time for an advanced scenario. You are on foot patrol when you see a person in black clothing stepping out of the window of a ground floor flat carrying expensive looking stereo equipment. You fix this presumed miscreant with your best police smile, and say…
Hands go up.
SI : Now it can’t always be the same people. Uh…. you there, in the back.
Student 4 is a nervous looking American.
Student 4 : Uhhh, me sir?
SI : Yes you. You are our lucky contestant for today. What would you say?
Student 4 gulps.
Student 4 : Um… I’m just an exchange student….. do I really have to….with the accent and the whole..?
SI : You most certainly do. Fire at will, sir.
Student 4 clears his throat loudly.
Student 4 : Um….. something like… “Well now…. just taking your stereo out for an evening stroll, I take it? ”
SI : Perfect. That will be all for today, students.
Well that was fun to write. Needs work – I think I lost focus somewhere in the middle. Were I the sort of writer who plans things out beforehand, such things would not happen. I would work all that out beforehand.
But I ain’t. Sometimes I wish I was. It would certainly make me feel more secure when I write. And I wouldn’t have to keep everything in my head till it’s written.
Alas, I am not that kind of writer. I have to go by the seat of my pants in order to maintain the motivation to write. If I write it all down and plan it all out beforehand, I lose all interest in actually writing the damn thing.
The creative energy has been released. Whatever I wanted to say has been said. Sure, it wasn’t in a form that is professional or useful. I just wrote notes. But that doesn’t matter. I am done.
And the very idea of writing if after the energy is gone is disgusting to me. As in, makes me feel quite queasy. Like used toilet paper gross.
Weird, I know, but nobody ever said art makes sense. If any kind of artist ever claims that they thoroughly understand their own creative process and have their muse thoroughly tamed, they are either lying or not very good, or both.
Even a recovering rationalist like myself knows that my inspiration does not come from the place of reason and light in my mind.
It comes from my deep emotional self. In fact, just recently, I have realized just how much of my mentation is intuitive.
Even my deeply analytical, seemingly logical thought processes have a very strong intuitive component. It’s always a very robust interplay between rationality and intuition.
I am pretty sure they call that genius.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.