Me and my angelic wife are heading to our favorite Sunday restaurant, the Ding How II. Since it is Sunday, churches with full parking lots line the boulevard to the restaurant. I’m speeding by, because my stomach is sending a wireless message to the brain that the body needs refueling, fast. Therefore, I’m driving like a madman.
Hey, there must be a police chief’s convention in town. the street is full of police cars. Several black and whites are gathered together in front of every house of worship on Churchlane Blvd. It’s either a convention or hoodlums have snatched the collection plate at every church we pass! What an audacious, sacrilegious, but meticulous bunch of thugs. They’ve sequentially knocked over every church on the street — haven’t missed one to judge by the conglomeration of cop cars at the base of each steeple. “No, no,” says my celestial wife, who momentarily descends to earth, “they’re preparing for church to let out, so they can direct traffic.” She smiles angelically.
Don’t get me wrong. I like churches and I like their inhabitants. Statistically speaking, I’d rather meet three armed churchgoers in that proverbial dark alley than three unarmed non-churchgoers. But from a municipal point of view — especially on Sunday morning when I’m hungry and intolerant of slowpokes between me and the Ding How II — my positive prejudice fades. I speed up to flee from the traffic tangle that a talented traffic cop can create out of a church driveway and two automobiles.
Alas, too late. An open palm at the end of a blue-shirted arm almost comes through my windshield. Three cars drift out of the church parking lot. Twenty of us Churchlane Boulevard voyagers sit motionless, waiting, waiting, sniffing exhaust fumes; and making a significant contribution to melting the polar ice cap.
My wife, the angel, smiles. “Isn’t that nice — that the city cares.” That’s a woman talking. She casts her divine smile on the slice of humanity that calls Huntsville, Alabama home. Not me. Hungry and cranky, I’m wondering how many muggings, burglaries, rapes and devious thieveries are taking place on the other side of town while these caring policemen impede my progress toward Peking duck lightly spiced with ginger. And that’s only my first objection. What about religious equality? I wonder if First Baptist (with two congregants on the city council) gets more blue-shirted waving arms than United Methodist? Not to mention the folks over at the Greek Orthodox Congregation, who don’t get a single traffic director for their 50-car parking lot. Who’s going to make sure they get home promptly for a nice Sunday lunch?
I know what you faithful are thinking — the Lord will provide. But don’t jump to any conclusions. In an imperfect world it’s way down on HIS list of injustices. He won’t get to it ‘til Tuesday morning. By then His worshipers could perish of malnutrition in the parking lot; unless He sends manna.
And how about separation of church and state. Consider those free thinkers in our fair city who don’t believe their deity resides in a building made of bricks, boards, or even Jerusalem stone. Call them the unaffiliated. Their tax money is in the pot. There’s even a few residents who believe in Nothing. Their creed may be vulnerable to argument, but their distaste for tax dollars to speed up church goers is, shall we say, understandable. Where are all those sign-waving activists who don’t want a Christmas creche on the city hall lawn — where are the zealots who think the Ten Commandments contaminate the court room? Why don’t they worry about me sitting in this fumey line and watching my Peking duck swoop to another customer’s table.
And why aren’t these Traffic Management Specialists arresting criminals? Burglars, I think, must love Sundays. Policemen are all on the churchy side of town, far removed from the high crime neighborhoods. All the small, criminal mind has to remember is don’t knock over a church or any business close to a church, because that’s where the cops are.
But my meditation over this danger is interrupted by a female scream in my right ear. “YOU REALLY OUGHTA CHECK YOUR FACTS!” says the wife. Maybe the city doesn’t provide churches with municipal traffic services, Maybe your city doesn’t pay, she’s arguing. Reality. Whatta bother. But since I value domestic serenity, I check.
Well, it turns out that in some cities the churches, not the city budget, pay for traffic management. They employ off-duty cops, of course.
But remember that the temporary church employee in the blue uniform, with the outstretched arm, wears a silver badge and carries a 38 Special paid for by me. And it’s MY uniform the officer is wearing and MY police car that blocks the third lane that I could use to loop around this roadblock, if I wasn’t afraid of MY 38 special. Who is this keeper of the streets? Could I hire him — uniform and all — to block off my street so we could have a neighborhood stickball game? And don’t tell me that since the officer is off-duty and he’s paid by the church that justice prevails. Firstly, policemen, whatever their shift status are always on duty. They possess a inherent authority ungoverned by the clock, that shouldn’t be purchased by any organization other than the city — that’s me — the taxpayer — and therefore employer of law enforcement personnel.
Church or city; one way or another I’m the ultimate payee either with my time or my taxes. Maybe both. I vote for upping the cop’s pay and banning outside employment.
