Ultimate Trouble - Story #3

The Magic Hat

In December 2003 we were on a family vacation in the Florida Keys when I decided to mix a little business with pleasure by meeting with the aviation department of the Monroe County Sheriff’s department.  The aviation unit had just finished a new office building and hangar at Marathon airport, about halfway between Key Largo and Key West and operated an emergency medical Huey (UH-1) and a couple OH-58A’s.  All of their helicopters were surplus from the United States military.  My son Brad and I went in to meet with a couple of the pilots who were very proud of their mission with the unit.  They were gracious enough to give us a tour of their facility and talk with us about their future helicopter requirements.  I invited them both to lunch and they accepted.  About halfway through the meal one of the pilots went to his car and brought Brad and me each an official Monroe County Deputy Sheriff hat.

““Now I’m going to give you one of these hats, but be careful what you do with it.  Everyone wants these hats, because they’re made of this perforated material and are really cool in the summertime.  They also like them because they’re official police hats and they can use them to get discounts around the Keys.  Don’t tell anyone that you got them from me.”

            “Thank you,” I replied.

            “Yeah, thanks,” said my son Brad as he put it on his head and shaped the bill of the cap.

            It wasn’t long after I found the benefits of the Monroe County Sheriff’s hat.  It was like a magic hat.

            “I’d like to go scuba diving.  What do you have available?” I asked the cute young attendant at the Coral Dive Shop in Key Largo.

            “Yes sir, officer,” she replied.  “We have a boat going out at 8 A.M. in the morning that goes to a sunken barge and then by a reef that usually has quite a few nurse sharks.”

            “I’m not sure,” I said trying to sort through our schedule in my mind.

            “They’re really the best dives we do.  And, of course, you’ll receive a 40% discount because you are a deputy sheriff.”

            I quickly calculated the savings in my mind.  “Does that discount apply to my family?” I asked.

            “Sure does,” she answered with a smile.

            I multiplied the savings by 4.  “I’ll take it,” I said. afraid she might change her mind.

            From the scuba shop we went to dinner at a local restaurant.  It was a rustic place with a typical nautical theme.  Oars and ship wheels and ropes decorated the walls.  I wore the magic hat through the meal and received the surprise of my life when I asked for the bill.

            “It’s on us,” said the owner/cook sticking his head out from the kitchen door.  “We’re just happy that ya’ll stop in, you know, it makes us feel real safe.”

            Mary gave me a nudge, “You should tell them that you’re not a real police officer.”

           "I never told her I was one," I replied. 

           "It's that damn hat....take that hat off," she answered.

           

            The next day we enjoyed a great scuba dive.  I wore the hat on the boat, to and from the dive site, and the crew treated us like royalty.  I was getting used to the privileges that came with the magic hat. But all good things come to an end, and later in the day, I reached the limit of the magic powers of my Monroe County Sheriff’s hat.  Mary was looking for a bottle of her favorite wine which was not available in our home town.  I let her out in front of the wine store and waited in the fire lane.  To my surprise there was a light knock on my window.  I looked up to see a short and pudgy Monroe County Deputy sheriff.

            I rolled down the window.

            “License and registration,” he said in a stern authoritative voice.

            I reached in my pocket and gave him my license.  “This is a rental car,” I said.  “So I don’t have the registration.”

            He took the license and stood behind the car writing down the license plate number.  He went to his car and was on the microphone obviously running the plates through the DMV.  Soon he climbed out of his car, flipped open a ticket book and began writing a ticket.

            “What in the world?” I thought.  I then looked over and saw my magic hat lying on the back seat.  “No wonder,” I thought.  “I wasn’t wearing the hat.”  At the same time Mary came out of the liquor store.

            “What’s going on?” she asked.

            “He’s writing me a ticket.”

            “What for?”

            “I don’t know.”

            “You don’t know, what do you mean you don’t know?”

            “I didn’t do anything.”

            “I’ll take care of this,” said Mary.

            “No let me, I’ve got a better way.” 

            I put on the magic hat, opened my door and strutted towards him.

            “Is there a problem officer?” I asked lifting my chin and making sure that he saw the magic hat.

            “Yes, you’re parked in a fire lane.”

            “I wasn’t parked, I was waiting for my wife.”

            “I don’t care what you call it,” he answered.  “You’re not allowed to park or stand inside that line.”  He continued writing the ticket.

            “What is wrong?” I thought.  “The hat’s not working.  Sir, I continued shaking my head back and forth.  Certainly you can give me a break.”

            “And why would I do that?” he answered.  “I’m not through with you.  But I have to finish writing this ticket.  So please shut up and let me finish.”

            Slowly and methodically he finished the ticket, and then with a quick tug he snapped it out of his book and handed it to me.

            “Now let me ask you another question, are you an employee of Monroe County?”

            “No,” I answered.

            “Then you are under arrest for impersonating a police officer.  Put your hands behind your back.”

            Mary saw that I was having trouble and came charging around the car.

            “What’s going on here!” she demanded.

            “Mary, please don’t get into it with this guy,” I pleaded.

            “I’m arresting your husband for impersonating a Monroe County Deputy Sheriff,” he answered.

            “For what?  For wearing a hat?”

            “That’s an official Monroe County Sheriff’s hat,” he said.

            “And it was given to him by the Monroe County Sheriff’s department.  I want to know where it says he can’t wear that hat,” she continued, pushing closer to the officer’s face.

            “Article 19 section 2,” he answered.

            “Show it to me,” she shouted.

            The deputy backed up.

            “Oh my god,” I thought.  “He’s not going to pistol whip her, he’s going to pistol whip me.”  I surveyed his belt to see if he had a stun gun.

            He spun me around and looked directly in my eyes, “I would recommend that you get back in your car right now and take off that hat immediately,” he said.

            I breathed a sigh of relief.

            Mary wasn’t through with him, “Why did you give us a ticket?  I was on my way out of the store.  You saw me coming and you still gave me a ticket.”

            “Please God,” I thought.  “Tell her to get back into the car.”

            A red Buick slowed down and pulled close to our car.  The electric window rolled down revealing a snarling, middle aged woman.

            “Fight it,” she yelled.  “They’re always doing this to tourists, giving them tickets for no reason. You’ll win!”  She gave the officer an evil look and drove off.

            I was leaving the next day, so I couldn’t fight the ticket.  It ended up costing me $55 for this story, but considering the discounts I got wearing the hat, it was still a good deal.

Ultimate Trouble - Story #2

Cow Town Marathon

 

            Every year, I participated in the Fort Worth Cow Town marathon 10K with a group from Bell Helicopter. I have always just been a recreational runner, so I had never tried the 26 mile marathon, but I liked to test my stamina every year in the 6.2 mile 10K race. This year my wife Mary decided to join me to see what the race was all about. Mary wasn’t a runner, and although a good athlete, she had never found pleasure in pounding out stress on the open road. We lived in Arlington, Texas, and made the short drive to the Fort Worth Stockyards for the beginning of the race. 

“Now let’s decide where we’re going to meet after the race,” I said to Mary as we got out of our car and entered the throng of runners with their numbers pinned to their backs, all heading from the parking lot to the starting line.

She followed nervously behind me as we came to the line of refreshment stands and buildings set up to promote health products and provide free samples to therunners.

“Do you see that big Lemon Chill sign?” I asked.

She nodded.

“Well, it will take me about 48 minutes to do the 6.2 mile 10K and it should take you a little over an hour, so I’ll be waiting for you there, okay?”

She nodded again.

We pushed our way through the crowd toward the starting line.

“How come this line is so long?” she asked. “It will take 10 minutes just to cross the actual place where the race begins.”

“Relax, you’re not worried about time, so just go with the flow. I’m going to weasel my way closer, because I’m competing. I don’t want to lose any time that I don’t have to.”

“I thought we would run together,” she pouted.

I looked down at her running shoes and saw her stylish white Keds.

“You don’t even have running shoes on! You should just walk at a brisk pace and enjoy the view and the people. I’ll see you in an hour.”

The starter’s gun fired and the 12,000 runners were off. Most were simply running in place, waiting for the glob of people in front of them to move. It was like a traffic jam that suddenly clears but takes several minutes for traffic to start moving. Once past the starting line the mass slowly thinned out to their respective paces. My pace was one of the more popular ones at about 7:45 minutes per mile. The thousands of feet thundered like a cattle stampede causing the asphalt to quake. There were all sorts of people around me: women, kids, old men, amputees, parents pushing children in special strollers, fat people and skinny people. We were all plodding ahead trying to pace ourselves, so that we wouldn’t have to stop and be among the shamed walking along the road. At the first mile, a timer called out the times: “7:35, 7:40, 7:45”, I was right on pace. The first test was when I crossed White Settlement Road and entered a long uphill climb at the 11Ž2 mile mark that squeezed my lungs and made my quads burn. I passed the second mile timer at 16:00 minutes. I was slowing down. There were volunteers everywhere handing out cups of water and electrolytes. I grabbed a cup of water and threw it on my face. The third mile was a beautiful path along the Trinity River. The timer screamed 25:15, I was beginning to fade. During the fourth mile I was passed by a 300 lb. man with a bright orange t-shirt with the word COACH written on the back. “How can he be faster than me?” I thought. I caught him and passed him; 32:30 the four miler timer called out. I was getting faster.

The fifth mile was a real drag and I thought I was going to have to stop until COACH plodded past me and I got my second wind, 41:45. We were now in the final mile, and COACH had decided to turn the event into a two man race. We were stride for stride as we headed down Harley Ave. There was a mariachi band playing, and the streets were lined with screaming and encouraging fans. I could see the finish line. The COACH and I were in a dead sprint. He was quite fast for a big man. I leaned at the wire, he leaned at the wire and he beat me by a belly. I finished at 49:42, COACH finished at 49:40, thankfully no one would ever know but me and him.

Winded and leg weary, I cooled down by continuing to walk toward the refreshment stands. I grabbed a banana and a cup of yogurt and limped to the Lemon Chill stand. There was a tap on my back. I turned and to my surprise saw my wife Mary standing there eating a power bar.

“How did you get here?” I asked puzzled and confused.

“The same way you did,” she answered.

But when?”

“About a couple of minutes ago, I finished in 47:32. Is that good?”

“No way, I didn’t even see you pass me.”

“It was on the bridge, but there were so many people between us I couldn’t get your attention. I ran with the nicest old lady. She was 74 and stayed with me the whole way.”

“You’re kidding me,” I said.

“Would I look this nasty if I hadn’t just run 6 miles?”

“But you’ve never run before, and those shoes?”

think I like running and I know I could go faster if you bought me a pair of nice running shoes like the ones you’re wearing.”

I hung my head in shame. I was thoroughly beaten: my wife in her white Keds, a 74 year old woman and a nameless man, known only as COACH. Fortunately, that was the end of Mary’s running career. Her body reminded her the next day that in order to run 6.2 miles, your legs need to be conditioned. She walked around like an old lady the next 2 weeks and vowed never to run another Cow Town 10K. I’m kind of glad, because each household is only big enough for one star athlete. 

Like what you read? The newest Trouble book, “How I Found Ultimate Trouble and Ultimate Trouble Found Me,” is scheduled to be published on July 31, 2012! But I will be adding another story soon, so be sure to check back! If you would like to purchase one of my other "Trouble" books, please check out my website: http://www.jeffreymarkshapiro.com

Introducing my new book: Ultimate Trouble!!

I am going to do something brand new with my blog.   My new book entitled “How I Found Ultimate Trouble and Ultimate Trouble Found Me,” is scheduled to be published on July 31, 2012.  It will be my third book in this series and will continue with humorous and ridiculous tales about events in my life.  People often wonder how I can still be alive after all of these things have happened to me, but they haven’t read anything yet.  Ultimate Trouble is just what the title implies;  even more ridiculous situations that  fortunately I can laugh about now. 

So what I’m going to do is give you all a sneak peak at this new book, by posting on my blog 6 stories between now and the application date, just to give you a flavor of what you have in store.  Here is story #1.

Fishing Adventures

            I have never been much of a fisherman. My usual fishing experiences start with great anticipation, but end with terrific frustration.  The following series of short episodes should convince you that the man Jeffrey Shapiro was meant to be a land–based, red-meat-eating creature.

 Bridgeport 1993

            “Pop, Ryan and I want to fish,” said my 8-year-old son Bradley.

            We were at our borrowed lake house at Lake Bridgeport for the weekend.  I call it borrowed, because we didn’t own it, nor did we rent it.  I had made an offer to buy the property, but it was tangled up in a divorce settlement and the owner, although sure that he would end up with it, could not sell it to me until the deal was done.  To keep me interested in buying the house, he let me use it for free.  It was an old rock house that smelled of mildew, but had a lot of character.  It was situated on a cliff next to Bridgeport’s small marina, and had a long, elaborate staircase that snaked from the house down to a metal floating dock.  The staircase was so long and steep that we planned our day around it to minimize the number of times we had to go up and down.  Lake Bridgeport was a fisherman’s paradise with great crappy, catfish and bass fishing right off our dock.  On this warm July afternoon, the kids fished for perch with worms while I put a piece of a succulent kosher hot-dog on my hook and lowered it to the bottom to catch a prize catfish.

            “I got one,” screamed Ryan.

            “Me, too,” yelled Bradley.

            I had all I could do to keep up with the kids as they pulled in perch after perch.  All the while our dachshund Shasta ran frantically around the dock, snapping and licking the flopping fish.  Finally, I realized that the kids needed my undivided attention, so I reeled in my line and worked with the kids. After about 15 minutes and about 30 fish, something horrible happened!

            “Mr. Shapiro, Mr. Shapiro!” cried Ryan.  “Look!”

            I turned around and saw Shasta running off the dock toward the house dragging my fishing pole.  She had eaten the hot-dog bait, hook and all!  I chased her down and pried open her mouth to see the hook embedded in the roof of her mouth.

            “Mary!” I yelled.

            My wife Mary ran down the stairs and gave me that familiar look I had come to know which communicated, “Have I ever told you that you’re an idiot!”

            I needed Mary to help with the operation because Shasta didn’t like me even though I loved her.  If I tried to pull that hook out without Mary, it would be like trying the floss the teeth of a crocodile.  Fortunately the hook came out relatively easily.

            When Ryan recounted the weekend to his parents, he told them, “We caught 16 perch and one dachshund.”

            That evening, after the kids had gone to bed, Mary and I returned to the dock for some more fishing.  Mary caught a perch, which I decided to use as bait to catch a big catfish, while she continued fishing with a worm.  I hooked the perch through the back bone and lowered the frisky fish to the bottom.  We sat next to each other enjoying the cool evening, until I got a bite.  And then she got a bite.  We both struggled to pull up what appeared to be 2 huge fish.  I reached over and grabbed the net, but when the fish surfaced, we saw that it wasn’t necessary, because there were not two huge fish.  There was only one small fish.  My perch had eaten her worm!

            As I sat reflecting on the day, Mary and the kids now sound asleep, I thought how nice it would be to catch a big fish to silence all of the critics who screamed in my head.  The dock light reflected on the green Texas waters, and I could see the occasional alligator gar swim by and could hear the cottonmouths make their way between docks.  Hour after peaceful hour passed by.  And then, without warning, my pole slid to the edge of the dock and nearly bent in half when I picked it up.  Something of huge proportions had gobbled up my bait.  I could feel the weight and strength of the massive creature of the deep as I struggled to wrench it from the bottom.  Slowly I inched it to the surface and got a peek at what it was.  It was a huge catfish, bigger than Shasta and bigger than any fish I had ever caught.  We met each other’s eyes at the surface, and apparently it didn’t like the looks of me because it dove to the bottom and I was left with the task of pulling it up again.  I looked for the net and to my dismay, it lay on the other side of the dock, beyond reach.  The fish surfaced again, but I had no hope of bringing it up to the dock without a net, so we looked each other in the eye again and then with one mighty lunge, it broke my line and was gone.  My hands were shaking from the excitement and my heart was broken.  I tried for 2 more hours to catch that fish, but I didn’t even get a bite.  Dejected, I made the lonely trek up the stairs and into bed.  I lay there for the rest of the night, thinking about the big one that got away.

            “What’s wrong?” asked Mary.  “All you’ve done is roll around since you came to bed.”

            “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

            “I bet you hooked a big fish and it got away.”

            “Yeah, it was a huge catfish and the net was on the other side of the dock, so I couldn’t get it and it broke my line and swam away.”

            “You’re right, I don’t believe you, now go to sleep.”

Like what you read? The newest Trouble book, “How I Found Ultimate Trouble and Ultimate Trouble Found Me,” is scheduled to be published on July 31, 2012! But I will be adding another story soon, so be sure to check back! If you would like to purchase one of my other "Trouble" books, please check out my website: http://www.jeffreymarkshapiro.com