Neighbors had complained to the mayor about the noisy pub on
the corner of 3rd & Lambourne. Seems that the old cronies got
together every Friday & Saturday, played cards, drank beer,
told lies and jokes until 2am Saturday morning, when the pub
had to close.
Officer Redding, parked down the street, was not amused. He
checked his watch, noted it was 01:55, time for the old drunks
to start leaving. If he hadn't been assigned this crap detail
he'd be down at the I-80 truck stop about now having a nice hot
cup of coffee. Redding pulled out a cigarette and was about to
light up when the door of the pub slammed open and an old
geezer stumbled out. Redding put the smoke back in the pack; he
was "on point" now.
The old man stumbled around, fished his car keys out of his
pocket, dropped them a couple of times, finally found them and
weaved down the sidewalk and across the road to his car.
Redding started his engine, watching carefully as the old man
fumbled to unlock his door. Other patrons leaving the pub
seemed a little tipsy, but nothing like the old goat trying to
get into his car. As soon as the old man's car started to pull
away from the curb, Redding was on him like a hound on a bone,
siren, red lights and loudspeaker. Redding wanted these
complaining neighbors to know the city was doing its job.
"Outta the car, old man!" demanded Redding. "But officer, I
haven't had anything to drink!" complained the old boy. "Sure,
you haven't, oldtimer, sure you haven't", replied Redding as he
put the cuffs on the old guy and hauled him downtown.
At the station, the old man blew into the breathalyzer and the
needle didn't move. "What the...you HAVEN'T been drinking, old
But that's what I tried to tell you back there, officer!" "Well
then, why were you stumbling all over the place?" asked Redding.
"Well, officer, tonight when we all got to the pub, they
elected me to be the 'designated drunk' when the place closed