Screaming Patrolmen

Time: Summer 1993
Place: South Coast of Kwazulu-Natal, South Africa

Rushing along to the station one fine afternoon, Bob and I were eager to sign off duty and get to the beach. It had been a fine summer’s day with perfectly blue skies and not a breath of wind, and we had been stuck on the 06h00 to 14h30 shift. We were concerned that by the time we got off duty the weather may have changed, but here we were at 14h15 and the weather was still perfect. As we raced into town we saw that just over the bridge that led into the main street there was a massive amount of traffic in the build-up to the traffic lights at the intersection. We had to go right to get to our traffic police station, and just before the bridge there was an unpaved gravel road leading through grassland and bush which came out a little way further up the main road through town and just a little further up the road from the station.

We often took this shortcut in times of need, for it was a simple matter to cut back again once hitting the main road and to turn into the station grounds. As it happened, today I decided to do just this. Whipping the car deftly to the right, I slipped onto the “monkey road”, for that’s what it was called. I slowed down to navigate through the crowds of school children all using the shortcut to get to the suburbs. Realising that this could end up being slower than going through the busy intersection on the main road, I wound down my window in order to lean out and yell at the kids to get out of the way. As I did so, a small sandy coloured grasshopper came sailing in through the window and settled in my bare forearm with his scratchy little legs. I’ve never been much of man when it comes to insects, I must admit. I let out a fearful scream, at the same time jamming both legs straight out in front of me. One foot pressed the clutch all the way in and the other jammed on the brakes. As I screamed in fright I snatched up my rubber baton and commenced beating violently about me as the poor grasshopper performed evasive tactics. By this stage Bob too had started yelling, though more because he didn’t quite know what it was that had started me off. The grasshopper was by now moving so fast that I don’t know if Bob had even managed to identify what exactly it was, but he too valiantly grabbed his baton and came to my aid, swatting blindly about in between yells of panic. We were both yelling at the tops of our voices and thrashing the seats wildly. By now the vehicle had almost stopped skidding along the gravel surface, and we threw open our doors and leapt out as it was coming to a stop, clouds of dust swirling over us. The grasshopper must have leapt to safety when the doors were thrown open, for when we tentatively examined the inside of the patrol car, he was nowhere to be seen. Once Bob realised just what it was that had set me off, he gave me a black glare of malevolence that pretty much let me know what his opinion of idiots that overreacted to harmless little insects was, but the tirade that should have followed was nipped in the bud by the realisation that we weren’t alone.

In the sudden silence that ensued we paused to look around us. There we stood, in a cloud of dust with our cool-as-snow avaitor sunglasses and batons in hand. Our vehicle lay abandoned in the middle of the road with both doors hanging open and we were surrounded by a dumbstruck crowd of little Indian children, who were gaping open-mouthed at us. Not saying a word we silently patted the dust off and climbed back in the car. Clinging to what tattered remnants of our dignity as we could, we slowly drove off without looking back.

I often wonder what those little school children must have thought of these two large and well-armed policemen who suddenly began screaming and leaping out of their moving patrol car, all the while thrashing the air and beating the seats with their batons! It must have been quite a sight...