For many police officers mandatory overtime is a favorite phrase. Twice a year, even in the toughest economy, it’s the rule. The first is New Year’s Eve and the second is Halloween. I’m a fright night lover so you can probably guess which my favorite is.
I learned early in my career how best to enjoy this fun and crazy night. I always put my name in to work the day patrol shift. The other cops give me strange looks. They want the nightlife because Halloween day is when the ghosts and goblins, better known as teenagers, rest up so they can terrorize the town when the moon’s at its zenith.
This means I have a chance to catch up on reports and prepare for skeletons rattling out of the darkest closets once the sun goes down. I go home at five, eat dinner, and await the early ghouls, better known as sweet young children, before heading back out on the street for overtime at nine.
I have a list of names, reported by the local grocery and convenience stores, for those restless zombies who purchased eggs during the day. The stores actually stock up on embryo supplies just to keep the monsters at bay. A simple phone call, using my evil cackle has the clerks spilling their guts.
With my holy water and stake at hand, inconspicuously appearing as chocolate candy bars and dollar bills, I’m ready to fight evil.
The calls start coming in and my police radio heats up. I can hear excited voices on the car to car channel as officers zero in on the culprits and head that direction only to be thwarted. Not me. I’m older and wiser than the average patrol super hero. I head to the do it yourself carwash.
To keep their brooms from melting, the flying monkeys make mad dashes through the stream of immortality before heading back out. This is where the chocolate and dollar bills come in handy. I pay the heathens for wicked intel and enjoy the candy bars myself.
A few calls to dispatch and my crime fighting brethren are now heading in the direction of the next ambush. I confiscate the blood-filled eggs, or at least that’s what the begging and moaning vampires have me believing they are and wait for my next victims. My voodoo list of names comes in handy when I need to summon demons aka a phone call to their mothers if they refuse to cooperate.
Officers request I give up the secret spell that allows me to pin-point the next phantom egg attack but what fun would that be? And, I’d probably have to share my chocolate stash.