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An Ironical Chronicle

Porn Star. Round One.

Though I plan on following each of the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force Officers, the target of my first attempt at tailing is, I admit, chosen quite impetuously.

My rear end is nearly devoid of all feeling from sitting idly in my car and I’m bored with the activities of my surroundings. All the familiar non-JADE people that, on one day or another, had seemed so fascinating to study are now as interesting to me as dust bunnies under a bed that are occasionally disturbed by the movement of feet.

I stretch my legs out as far as I can and compare the amount of room in the front seat of my car to a needle’s eye. I can’t prove it but I theorize the hole in the pin has significantly more space. I tilt my head down and use my hand to massage away the tightness that’s developing in my neck. A flicker of movement makes me snap back straight.

There he is: Porn Star. He’s come down the steps from the building and is lumbering with an air of determination across the parking area towards his vehicle. As he pulls the door handle up, he stills for a moment. His head turns in my direction. His sunglasses hide his eyes but I don’t need to see them. Hey, he’s looking right at me. It’s a sign! I’m going to follow him.

Full of excitement to be learning something new, I turn the key in the ignition and listen as my car’s engine revs to life. I barely slide the gearshift into “D” before Porn Star’s funky-colored Honda whips out of its parking space and zips off. Whoa! I have to floor it to catch up to him.

There’s a stop sign at the top of the lot. Apparently Porn Star thinks the lone word in giant white print is merely a suggestion -- one which he ignores. He shoots across the intersection.

I too can tell there’s no oncoming traffic but decide not to be as risky as him. I mean, if he happens to get pulled over for driving like a miscreant, the officer’s just going to send him on his merry way; if I get pulled over, the only place I’ll be going, not merrily, is to court to pay off the fines. Besides, I can see Porn Star heading up the incline and I expect to catch up to him.

Making it to the opposite side of the road, I grab one of my cameras and try to snap off a couple of pictures of his car as he, with nary a brake light aglow, blows through that intersection also. Gee what a surprise.

It’s registering that this is going to be harder than I thought. I mutter a mild swear, abandon the camera to the passenger seat, and stomp down on the gas pedal. I reach the octagonal sign in four seconds flat and quickly glance both ways. The street is deserted so across go I. Despite my effort Porn Star is still already way more than halfway up the next hill.

Third intersection: heavy traffic has forced him to halt. I ease down on the brakes and come to rest right behind him. While automobiles flow by sea-like in front of us, I wonder half in jest if Porn Star is wearing his seat belt. Like most of the vehicles used by members of the Task Force, the tint on his windows is far too dark to see through. I barely glance to my left and of course he uses that exact instant to turn right. Nice blinker. I roll my eyes.

I have to wait for a tan Lincoln and some sort of company’s van to pass before I can pull out. I turn; now I can’t see around the van. I sidle as far over to the left as I possibly can without initiating a head-on collision and stare all the way down the road in front of me. My macho man is nowhere to be seen. Great; I haven’t even been following the guy a whoppin’ three minutes and I’ve already lost him. I facetiously debate whether Porn Star is the best driver ev-er or the worst.

Unfamiliar with the area, I get lost in a tangle of side roads trying to return to where I started. It takes me nearly twenty five minutes to maneuver my way back to my original spot. I make a mental note to invest in a map of the city streets.

I find the whole episode comical and respond to it the only way one can: with laughter.