Green aprons and Blue Lights

Green aprons and Blue Lights by M. M. Atkinson

I had just left my shift at Mimi’s café, a hidden gem on the outskirts of Portland. It wasn’t raining, but a cold mist prickled my neck from the cold. I shivered and pulled my sweater closer to my body for warmth. It was late spring, but the nights were too cold to be wearing only a sweater over my waitress uniform. I looked down at my forest green shorts and white shirt that was stained with what I could only hope was ketchup or gravy. I hurried to my car, tossing my stinky French fry scented apron onto the passenger seat of my old Ford Tempo.

My stomach grumbled reminding me that I’d only had a few bites of a grilled cheese from the kitchen and too many sips of Dr. Pepper. I eased the car into gear and drove away toward the Mini Mart on the next corner. I ran inside for a pack of smokes and another Dr. Pepper, oblivious to my surroundings. I gave my aching feet from the 12 hour double shift I’d just spent torturing them.

My mission, to which I gladly accepted was to drive the 15 minutes to my apartment, say hi to my roommates, Bub and June, and spend the next few hours curled up in bed with Netflix and some Doritos.

I briefly noticed a police car parked a couple spots down but thought nothing of it. As I backed out of my parking spot, I realized I hadn’t turned my headlights on. I flipped them on and made my way out of the lot. I made a right turn and saw a flicker of lights behind me. I ignored it and started to pull to the right, thinking the cop must’ve gotten a call. I drove on for another few seconds when I heard “boop boop” and realized the lights were for me. I was being pulled over! What did I do? The lights thing? It couldn’t be. I’d been in my car for 12 seconds, maybe a taillight or something, I didn’t know. I glanced down at my cell laying on top of my apron, dead because I’d forgotten my charger at home.

The officer walked up to my window as I foraged the glove box for my wallet, registration, and ID.

"Step out of the car miss.”

Step out? I thought, surprised by this request. I’d been pulled over before, but never asked to get out of my car.

“Did I do something wrong officer?” I asked.

I got out of the car and stood nervously in front of him. As I got a better look at him, I recognized him from the restaurant, he came in often and I knew his order: coffee, whatever the special was and a piece of pie. It was Officer Curtis.

“Oh, Hi Officer Curtis, did I forget to bring you ketchup?”

I half giggled because I took his order and served him not more than half hour ago. I cashed him out right before I left, ten minutes ago. When he didn’t respond, I instantly got nervous. I felt my cheeks flush with heat and my hands shake. I didn’t need another ticket.

After a moment, he finally smiled so I was able to relax a bit.

“Have you been drinking tonite?”

I thought he must not recognize me from 10 minutes ago when I cashed out his check on my way out, even though I still had my uniform and name tag on.

“No sir, I just got off work, I was your server.”

“Well you started to pull out of your parking spot with no headlights so I’m going to need to run a sobriety test.”

I was mad now, but I respect authority, so I would comply, no matter how ridiculous I thought he was.

“Whatever, fine, but I haven’t been drinking in the 10 minutes since you saw me at the restaurant.”

He had still not asked for my ID or insurance at this point. What followed was a series of tests: Walk a straight line forward and backward, stand on one foot, touch your nose, recite the ABC’s backwards starting from R, the standards. The one I questioned was: bend over and touch your toes and swing your hips.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“You heard me, do it.”

I was on the side of the road, after midnight with my ass in the air swinging back and forth. I’d never been asked to take a sobriety test, but I thought that one was out of the norm, especially when I saw him staring directly at my ass in a way that made me want to run. I stood up and turned to face him.

“Well, can I go home now?”

“Not yet, you failed.” He said.

Just give me a breathalyzer or arrest me because I just want to go home.” My nerves frayed, my temper rising, I felt a little more confident. I knew I hadn’t been drinking anything but soda all night. He could waste both our time and take me to jail, but I’d get out. I’d give him a piece of my mind too.

He stared at me for a moment. I could see the wheels of his mind turning about what to do with obviously not drunk me.

“How about this. Take a ride with me to sober up, and then I’ll bring you back to your car.” He said.

“What? No! I haven’t done anything wrong! You can ask my boss and my co-workers! I haven’t been drinking!”

I started to cry at this point. Everything about this screamed “WRONG” in my head. He wasn’t a cop to “protect and serve,” he was a cop to abuse and be a perv or worse. Maybe I’d read too many Ann Rule books about serial killers, but I was instantly so terrified of this man, I could feel it in my bones. I said a prayer in my head. I knew he was going either going to rape me or worse. He was a cop, he knew how to get away with things. I saw my mom’s face wondering why I didn’t call her in the morning like I did every morning. I saw my roommate’s irritated faces change to worry, because I always called if I wasn’t coming home I saw my dad biting his lower lip the way he did when he was worried.

Visions of my missing posters and wondering which picture they’d use were pulled back by a voice.

I call him my guardian Angel.

“Everything okay, Ella?”

It was my boss, Ted. He was just leaving work and saw me pulled over. He stopped his car and yelled out his window, probably saving my life.

I glared at the cop and waited for him to respond. I could see he was caught between frustration and flustered while he worked up a valid response.

“I think you’re working this little gal too hard, she looked too tired to drive. I’m going to escort her back to your restaurant and get some coffee in her until she’s awake enough to drive herself home.” He said.

“You said I was drunk.” I said a little louder than I should’ve.

“Really? Uh, that’s nice.” my boss said.

He started to pull away, and I started to call out after him. He hesitated before I could form the word “help.”

“You know, it has been a doozy today. I could use a little coffee myself. I’ll join you.”

I turned around and started walking to my car, the cop following close behind me.

“Drive straight to the parking lot, I’m right behind you.” He said.

I did as he said and drove the half block back to work. My Boss was waiting for us in the parking lot. He gave me a look that said he knew what was going on.

He whispered, “what the hell?” Right before the cop joined us.

We sat down inside, I got us 3 coffees but only filled mine and my bosses half full. We made small talk with Officer Curtis as I chugged my coffee. He told me about a young cadet who he thought I would “hit it off” with. It was a hard pass for me. There were a few more young officers who “he’d like to give my number to,” but I lied and said our phone was disconnected, and I had a boyfriend. He told my boss “not to be surprised if some young men started calling the restaurant for me.”

When our coffee was finished, Ted offered to drive me home, and I quickly took him up in the offer. We left when the Officer Curtis went to the restroom. He encouraged me to file a complaint with the police department and I promised him I would.

I did try to file a report. I called the next day and spoke to a nice gentleman who said he’d send an officer out to take my statement. He also added his own thoughts on my story saying that Officer Curtis was a family man and I was probably just a pretty girl who he thought needed his help. I gave up after that, I knew no report would be filed and if it was, nothing would come of it. I regret that now.

I quit that job a short time later and the cop never came back, at least while I was there. Ted and I had warned the other girls about him as well. I remember one of the other waitresses vowing to spit in his food if he dared show his face again.

One night, a few years later, I was up late with my newborn daughter and a news story caught my attention.

“Local waitress missing last seen leaving Mimi’s Café on May 24, shortly after midnight.”

I put my daughter back in her crib and grabbed my phone.

“Hello, Police? I may have information on your missing waitress.”

They found her body three days later in the trunk of Officer Curtis’s police car.