I've opened up a second front. Hey, it worked for Hitler in Russia, huh? Walking back and forth this morning outside the Virginia Commonwealth University police station on West Grace Street with a sign that reads, "Kiss my ass, Eugene Trani." A woman cadet or intern with short red hair opens the door and suggests I take my sign elsewhere, preferably to Eugene Trani's office on West Franklin. I say First Amendment yada, yada, yada. She gives me the address. An officer says he's offended by the language on the sign. I say you can hear the same language on late night talk shows. I say I'm offended by guys who don't wear shirts, but there's no law against it. He says some people are offended by novelty t-shirts such as the one I'm wearing that says,"Whoever said, 'Money can't buy happiness' forgot about prostitution." I say some people are offended by overweight guys. He asks if I think he's overweight. I suggest he ask his doctor. I say that some people are offended by lesbians. At which point, the cadet or intern calls me "Jack" and closes the door. Yet another candidate for a refresher course in customer relations. My name is not Jack - Tripper or Ripper. My name is Chris Martin - yes, Gwyneth Paltrow made a horrible mistake which she regrets every day. The whole encounter has a surrealistic feel - like the the Knights of the Round Table at the French castle in "Monty Python and the Holy Grail," with me as a stand-in in for the knights and the VCU police being the French:
French Soldier: You don't frighten us, English pig dogs. Go and boil your bottoms, you sons of a silly person. I blow my nose at you, so-called "Arthur King," you and all your silly English K-nig-hts
.
I upgrade my sign at Pla-Za Art (reasonable prices for FoamCore) and move on to Eugene Trani's office. It's called hydraulics, Eugene. You pressure me and I transfer the pressure back to you.
Thanks to Janeane Garofalo for being
my nasty girl
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