Page 327 - NIXBOOK

I’m at the Dairy Queen drive through, picking up my medium blizzard with Oreos in it, because, well because I just needed one
that day. The cashier handed it to me and declined to take my payment card, saying the folks in the car in front of me had
already paid for me. Jeez, that sure was nice. (I’ve had the happen to me about a half dozen times during my career and I
appreciated the gesture every time). But police officers are not supposed to accept gratuities from citizens, so there’s a mild
quandary. But my benefactors are long gone and anonymous, so in this case it’s ethical, I guess. I took my blizzard and made a
bit of a show anyway, looking behind me and all around and then telling the girl in the window “Well I don’t see my police chief
anywhere around here so I’ll take it, thank you!” Well guess who had been in the jeep in front of me who paid for my blizzard?
I found out later…it was…wait for it…that’s right, the police chief and his wife!

Somebody called 911 to report a motorcyclist crashed off the road. No further details other than the location were available,
because the reporting party had been on their way to work and couldn’t be bothered to you know, maybe stop and assess the
situation? Two minutes later I arrived on the scene and found the motorcyclist was okay; she had just wiped out on the wet road
and dumped her nice BMW cruiser into a ditch. Aside from some broken plastic, it would be okay. Her husband then showed
up; a retired firefighter. He looked like walking death; too skinny and frail for his age. He was lugging around a portable chemo
pump. Had pancreatic cancer. Looked like he had about a month left. The broken motorcycle was the least of their worries.