The People Here Are Nice, Mace Seems Unnecessary

Hi, Dad! Can you believe it's already Day Four? Yeah, I can too. That's just how time works, right? Always has.

As per our conversation yesterday, I've been considering whether or not I should get mace and I've come to the conclusion that it's a bit much. I know why you want me to. And I enjoy not being attacked as much as the next guy, but I don't think that's the best solution.

Meleva used to carry pepper spray on her keychain when she lived in LA. Her dad gave it to her, now that I think about it. You dads! But not only did she never use it, we both forgot that's what it was. To us, it was the gray leather cylinder that you held the keys by when you were the driver. And it helped you find them when they were lost at the bottom of your purse. It was like when the coffee shop attaches a big spoon to the bathroom key. You don't lose it and you don't forget it. So, it was more like reminder spray than pepper spray. 

To the point where, I once went to pick her up at the Burbank airport and tried to bring it through security. This was before 9-11 (Firemen are America's heroes) when you were allowed to meet your roommate at the gate, if you were so inclined. It was a simpler time for America. Not for me, though. I was all mad about everything most of the time. So, when I threw my keys in the bowl, I didn't really pay attention to the pasty young security guard who looked so freaked out. I just figured he was weak and went on my way. He met me at the end of the X-ray conveyor belt, holding out my bowl of keys all wide-eyed and goes, "Um, is that pepper spray?" 

(Imagine how this guy handled 9-11! "You guys! Mitch fainted! Get him some water!)

To me, pepper spray had become synonymous with "oversized keychain." Not a weapon, unless you were going to hit your attacker on the soft spot of his temple ten or twelve times. So I answered, "Yeah, it is." Like he was a pepper spray enthusiast who wanted to talk shop. Then I go to grab the keys, but he yanks the bowl back and in a shaky voice goes, "Wait here." That's when it hit me. Mitch thinks I'm trying to smuggle pepper spray into the Burbank Airport. Maybe so that when Meleva comes off her flight, I can step forward and let her know what not doing the dishes gets you when you live with me. 

So Mitch runs away and comes back with your favorite guy, the Super Powerful Cop. I'm remembering him to look like Dog the Bounty Hunter with a crew cut, but that could be exaggeration. 

It was weird though because instead of being afraid or intimidated, I was pissed off. What a stupid way to get sent upriver! So, the cop starts asking me questions in a really sarcastic voice as he's trying to open the snap on the gray leather pepper spray cover. His sarcasm only fuels my rage and I start answering him like we're in a sarcasm contest. As we chat, we discover that the snap on this leather cover has had so much crap spilled on it over the years that it's now permanently fused closed. No matter how hard the Very Strong and Powerful Cop tries, it simply will not open. He finally gives up. I say, "Are we safe now, Barney?" snatch them out of his hand and walk away. (That last part didn't happen exactly like that per se, but I needed a button for the story.)

Point being, I don't think pepper spray or mace or any kind of, "Hold it right there while I dig around my purse to find something that I'm inevitably going to spray in my own eyes."-type item is the answer. What I need is a gun.

(I'm still working on loading all the pictures I took yesterday. The machine won't let me do it right now. But when it does, get ready for a real Ken Burns-esque presentation- including the picture I took of the theater your boyfriend Letterman shoots in which is RIGHT around the corner from my hotel. See? I'm safe. Dave's right there for me.)