I have a bit of a thing for cops. When I consider what happened to me today, I'm surprised I didn't drop dead.
There was a police protest march in Toronto this morning. Unfortunately, its start point was right where I work. I pulled into my usual parking lot. There were already lots of police officers milling about. I waited behind a couple of other cars and finally pulled up to the cashier's booth. He said, "I'm sorry, parking today is for police only. Go to the next lot." By this time, there were vehicles behind me and cops on foot everywhere. I blurted out, "you mean I can't park here because of this bullshit?"
That's when one of the nearby officers' ears perked up.
"What do you mean, bullshit?" he asked.
I glared at him and powered my window up.
So now I had to do a three-point turn and exit. This wasn't easy, because the enormous outdoor parking lot was now spilling out cops heading to the protest.
Have you seen pictures of drivers on country roads surrounded by livestock? That was me in my car, having to (non-agressively) sound my horn to get the cops to move. It took forever to get out.
I parked in the next lot and walked down the street to work. This is when I started to notice that they weren't all fat middle-aged cops like the one who called me on my remark. In fact, there were tons of young, hot, buff cops. My head was reeling; I tried not to stare. Some of them were wearing cologne; the smell of freshly-showered men washed over me in waves.
By the time I got to my office, I had to close my door and put my head down on my desk for a few minutes.