Growing up, PBA meant: the Professional Bowlers Association. When there wasn’t baseball, basketball, or football to air on tv the networks provided boob tube viewers with bowling tournaments sponsored by the PBA. Nowadays for me PBA means Police Benevolent Association. If you’re a member, which I’m soon to be because I’m related to 5-6 cops, you can get a PBA card. If you get in trouble you can try, with subtlety, showing the cop the PBA card and they just might turn a cheek and get back in their squad car. Or not. But it’s worth a shot. All the cops I’m related to never shot their guns while on duty. Case you’re wondering.
The cabby that was driving me and my 1 small and 2 giant bags home from the airport was in the mood to talk. I wasn’t, but because I usually am, I faked my usual self. He was showing me his amazing GPS system that cost him 400 dollars out of pocket. But he loved it. I told him what he really needed was a PBA card.
“Now why would I carry a bowling association card around?” he didn’t ask but I wish he had. What he really said was: YES! I have one. I have a close friend who gave me one. I was a little jealous because I heard you needed to be related. Jealous isn’t the right word but I’m too tired to go back and fix it. The cabby told me that the card is only good for the calendar year you receive it in. It was New Year’s Eve.
“You have ONE DAY LEFT!!!,” I shouted with mock urgency. “You must drive around recklessly as possible!”
“I know. I know, man,” he said. “And this is maybe my last one. The friend who gave me this died in an accident this year.”
“That’s terrible. Well, you must honor him by running this red light right here…right now, ” I suggested.
He did.
Happy New Year everyone. Be reckless. Safe, but reckless. And get related to a cop, if you can.
