A dark deal for the boys in blue

Dear Mr. Officer,

For the record, I don't want to give you your coffee for free, but I feel forced to. One time, when I worked at another donut store, I charged a police officer for his coffee and donut. He gave me a look, slowly took his money out as if he was giving me a second chance to reconsider, and then slapped two dollars on the counter, took his stuff, and walked off.

The kicker isn't just that a police officer never stepped foot in that shop again, or that the bill was actually more than two dollars. No, the kicker was that the place was robbed one night. Luckily, I wasn't working, but I heard that it took the police a good 15 minutes to get to the shop. I don't know what happened to the clerk that was working that night. Nobody does. She just up and disappeared.

So, I don't give you free coffee to be nice. I give it to you for the peace of mind of my co-workers, because I know that wherever that clerk is, whatever she's doing, it's my fault that she's the way she is. Well, maybe she moved up in the world, ditched selling donuts to fill some CEO's pockets and actually made something of herself. We can dream, can't we?

To be quite honest, you disgust me. You saunter in, you look around, and then you take what you actually think is rightfully yours. Protect the city, get a coffee. It's like a mob transaction, really. I give you something for free, and you'll come in for more. The more I give, the more you're here, and the more you're here, the less likely it is that some co-worker of mine will be attacked by some creep with a gun and the misconception that the cash register gets filled selling donuts and coffee at 2 a.m.. Then you'll get back in your car, turn the lights on, and run the red light, because you're above the law.

When you do that, I secretly wish that someone will be driving through the intersection, and you'll get in a bloody wreck. I doubt Jesus forgives me for that. If it happened, I wouldn't forgive myself either.

Anita.