Last time I saw Virginia State Trooper Ledbetter was St. Patrick’s Day. Obviously I know who he is, so spotting him this Memorial Day was not excessively wowing. But I did want to find out who his paisano was.
I stroll into Firehouse Subs. Had I been thoughtful rather than spontaneous, I would’ve brought cash in with me. You know, to buy something. The only excuse I’ve left myself for being in there? The restroom. Drats.
I walk the full length of the restaurant. Ledbetter’s buddy is at the fountain drinks. With his back towards me. I can’t exactly spin him around, can I? Drats.
I go through the door marked “Firewomen.” Count in my head what would be an appropriate amount of time to be in there if I were using it as it’s intended. I exit. Only to realize the unidentified Trooper is visiting the men’s toilet. Drats.
By-a-table Ledbetter does a conspicuous double-take of me. Probably because my hair is electric purple. I smile and vacate the eatery empty-nameded. Drats.
Uhm, when’s the next holiday?