I got some yard time yesterday drinking in Dolores Park with everyone’s favorite visiting klezmer (“but we don’t call ourselves a klezmer band”) musician.
There are a lot of cops patrolling D. Park even on a weekday. Why is this? At first I figured they were going for an easy ticket, so we dutifully hid our bottles in bags and waited for the cop in the car and the two motorcycle cops to move on. They failed to do this, so we started cautiously drinking out of the bagged bottle, and then poured some wine into a cup and pretended it was, I dunno, beet juice or something. Still no reaction from the three cops in our immediate vicinity. After a while we stopped worrying about it and began drinking openly. Finally fed up, I walked over and poured the dregs of the wine bottle onto the upholstery of the cop’s car, but he didn’t even blink.
I mean! Who are they out here to protect me from, if not myself?
Seriously, though. Considering what nonsense I was talking after half a bottle of wine and a couple of beers, a little police intervention to keep me sober might not have been the worst thing.