Cop (I): Naked
by Doug Dahl—Age 36—Blaine, WA
Nearly every cop eventually responds to a call involving nudity. I was writing reports at the end of my shift when Deputy Casey came in from the field after his first experience.
“I knocked on the door, and when it opened, she was standing there–robe wide open–showing me her tits.”
“What was she, Ben, some meth whore with oozing sores all over?”
“No, that’s the thing. She was totally hot. I kept trying not to look, but I couldn’t help it.”
Ben mimicked his earlier response, putting his hand up to partially cover his eyes while he cocked his head. “I turned away and asked her to tie up her robe.”
A road-weary deputy from the other side of the report room spoke up. “You’re an idiot, Ben. Naked and pretty; that’s a once in a career experience.”
“What, you would’ve left her standing there naked while you took the report?” Ben sounded a bit indignant.
“No, I’d of done what you did. Just slower.”
Several months later I had my first “naked” call. A couple hours before the end of swing shift, I responded to a report of suspicious activity in a rural neighborhood. I arrived at the caller’s home, a mid 60’s singlewide in an accidental trailer park that spread for miles through the hillside.
The weathered plastic window on the front door obscured all but the silhouette of the person approaching. When the door opened, a man about 25 years older than the trailer greeted me. He had scraggly gray hair and beard, and wore a well-used undershirt. That was it. Below the undershirt his genetic coding hung exposed.
“Are you the one who called?” I asked. In my head I said, “You knew I was coming. Why didn’t you put on some pants, freak?”
The man said, “Come on in, have a seat.” I looked at his furniture. I wondered how long he’d owned that couch and if he ever wore pants. “No thanks,” I replied. “I’ll stand.”
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