So there’s this chicken…

7 Jul

I have what I like to think of as a healthy level of respect for (read: irrational fear of) police officers. If I see a police car when I’m driving, I slow down to an old lady pace. If I see them when I’m out and about in the city I walk a little taller, don’t jaywalk and put on my best “I’m not guilty” face. I’m not really sure why I am certain that the police are interested in whatever it is that I am doing. Generally speaking, I do my best not to break the law, so the chances of me breaking the law while in the presence of a police officer are pretty slim.

My dad was a Maryland State Police officer for 17 years, and while you’d think the exposure to the police force would make me feel more comfortable around them, that doesn’t seem to be the case. Maybe its because I wouldn’t want my dad stopping me on police business. He’s kind of a badass. Though the majority of the work he did was as a flight paramedic, which really doesn’t involve much actual policing. Unless you count searching for “bad guys” on the lam from a helicopter. You know like in that scene in Gone in 60 Seconds when Nicholas Cage is trying to get Eleanor to the dock on time. Which I do count, and honestly that’s kind of extra badass. Perhaps I believe that all cops are as badass as him? I don’t know, but I’m thinking knowing the police have THAT kind of power may contribute to this respect (read: fear).

Because I am kind of afraid of police officers, and oddly convinced that they are interested in whatever I am doing, I often start to formulate the answer to the usual “where are you headed?” question to prove that I’m not “up to anything” the minute I see one. Friday, I was out for a walk (we’ll call it “cross-training”), because I had to do a workout to complete my GymPact (see Tools for info on GymPact) this week, and it wasn’t a running day. I also needed to go to Rite Aid, to look for a fan, shaped like a chicken.beyonce chicken the fan

Wait. Before I tell you this story, you’re going to need some background info. There’s a chicken. Named Beyonce. She’s made out of an (enormous) oil drum, and was purchased from a discount outlet by The Bloggess, Jenny Lawson. Beyonce was basically purchased, in short, because her husband forbade her from buying towels. You’re really just going to need to read her post ( for yourself to get the entire gist of the story. This particular post by The Bloggess was sent to me by a friend because it encapsulates both the kind of fights that Alex and I have, and the slightly-askew-from-normal way that I live my life (for example, I have a string of flamingo Christmas lights hung in my office. They are not plugged in, they are objet d’art).

So, where were we? Right, I had to go for a walk, to meet my GymPact and figured that I’d kill two birds (look, a pun!) with one stone and walk to the Rite Aid to look for the metal chicken fan. I know that the chicken fan is being sold at Rite Aid because my awesome cousin-in-law, who is also a Bloggess/Beyonce Chicken fan (there’s another one!), just purchased said fan from a Rite Aid for 25% off. Obviously, I had to get in on this. So did my work BFF who does not live near a Rite Aid. Really, I had to go to the Rite Aid you see, not just for me, but for all Beyonce Chicken fans everywhere.

While out on my walk, a police car went by. I immediately started to craft my reply to “where are headed?” you know, because he obviously was going to stop me to see where I was going on my walk… The conversation between me and the police officer went something like this (in my head, with my overactive imagination):

Police Officer: I’ve determined that you seem suspicious, so where exactly are you going?

Me (be sure to read this while paying as little attention to the punctuation as possible, I’m really ramble-y here): Well, officer, you see, I have this app… on my phone. It’s called GymPact, and you set a “pact” with yourself to workout a certain number of times, and if you don’t meet your pact you have to pay whatever amount of money you set. Wait, I’m not explaining that well, let me give you an example. So I set mine for five days each week, and then wager $10 per missed workout, so if I only work out 3 times, I have to pay $20, but if you make all of your workouts you get a cut of the money that the people who didn’t work out have to pay in. I made like $50 last year. It’s really cool. Anyway, if I didn’t workout today I wouldn’t meet my pact this week, so I had to go for a walk. But I also have to go to Rite Aid, because there is this chicken fan on sale for 25% off. Have you heard of The Bloggess? She’s this blogger, super funny really, you should check her out. She has this giant metal chicken that she got on sale at a discount outlet, really she bought it to piss off her husband, but nonetheless the chicken is kind of fabulous in that crazy sort of way. And its name is Beyonce. Rite Aid is now selling a fan that looks a whole lot like Beyonce Chicken. In fact, I’m going to call it Beyonce Chicken: The Fan. That is if they have one at the Rite Aid down the street…

Then my brain chimed in:

My Brain 1: Dude. You’re overselling. Why did you bring up the chicken? You’ve gone to far, he’s going to think you’re lying. Seriously. Who goes on a walk to buy a chicken shaped fan?

My Brain 2: Well… we do. And, I think my cousin-in-law might have had she lived close enough to the Rite Aid to walk. And my work-BFF definitely would have if she lived close enough to the Rite Aid to walk. But, yes, I see your point. We may have gone too far.

That’s about where this hypothetical interaction ended.

I thought maybe if I wrote this all out I might figure out why I feel the irrational need to preemptively craft my interaction with every police officer I see on the off chance that they have any interest in me whatsoever. It didn’t help. I still have no idea. But now you have some idea about how slightly-askew-from-normal I really am. I figured if you were going to continue on this journey with me I probably should let you know.

Now you do.

Also, a quick Google tells me that you can get Beyonce Chicken: The Fan at Bed Bath and Beyond. I’d have felt remiss if I didn’t let you know.


6 Responses to “So there’s this chicken…”

  1. anjeanette July 7, 2013 at 9:25 am #

    I have the same irrational fear when I fly. That the TSA folks are going to go all Siberia Russia on me and stick me in a locked room where I cannot have access to the outside world. Each time I make it thru screening I feel like I got away with something.. like cheating on a chem exam or something. Your rationalizations make perfect sense to me. Perhaps this is why we get along so well.

    • Jessica Main July 7, 2013 at 10:04 am #

      Yes!! TSA does that to me too! The number of “yes, sir!”s that come out of my mouth in that line rival that of a cadet in boot camp.

  2. Donna Russell July 7, 2013 at 9:35 pm #

    Jess…you crack me up! I soooo love you! You have grown into an awesome, wonderful young woman (a lot like Stacey in so many ways….which is probably why you became such good friends). I’m sure your mom is so proud of you. You are so thoughtful, considerate, loving, compassionate and other-centered. You are truly a gift to all those who cross your path. I miss you my friend. Give mom a hug from me…and thank you so much for thinking of me so often and keeping me in your prayers. ♥♡♥

    • Jessica Main July 8, 2013 at 3:20 pm #

      Thanks Donna! I will give my mom a hug for you next time I see her. Give your kids and grandbaby a hug for me! Oh, and, Happy Anniversary!

      • Donna Russell July 8, 2013 at 10:47 pm #

        Thank you sweetheart….will do.


  1. Apps that I use: GymPact | - July 8, 2013

    […] So there’s this chicken… ( […]

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: