The Sheltered Islander

Born to be Mild

By Sally Flynn

I had to get myself fingerprinted at the SI Police Department for my new position as Adult Education Coordinator. All of the Shelter Island Police are handsome and brilliant and I had every intention of taking advantage of at least one of them. I’ve been single for a long time and I thought I could use a good pat down search. You see, I’ve entered that time in a woman’s life when “sexual harassment” has moved into the Job Benefits column. I knew they’d have to search me if I did anything suspicious, so I was ready...

“Good afternoon, Ms. Flynn.”

“Good afternoon, Officer.”

“Would you like to search me?”

“Not necessary for fingerprints.”

“Are you sure? Look at this suspicious lump....”

“Uh, huh... and why is that lump shaped like a chainsaw, Ms. Flynn?”

“You caught me! I surrender! Search me!”

“Ms. Flynn..... please.... get a grip on yourself. And take the chainsaw out of your pants.”

“It’s new.... it’s a Bosch....you can keep it if you search me.”

“Ms. Flynn, please, I have important things to do today.”

“Fine.....hey, you know what.... you can handcuff me....”

“Not today, we already hit our quota of crazy for the week. Please rub this cleaning pad on your fingers.”

“How’s that?” I asked holding up my freshly cleaned and neatly manicured fingers.

“Very nice, now give me your hand and relax,” he said as he gently rolled my fingertips on an inkpad. The tension was palpable.

“Ms. Flynn, I just need your hand. Please back up a step. Both of us cannot occupy the same space at the same time....”

“Oh, of course. I just thought you’d want to be thorough. Maybe later, you can run my record.”

“You have a record?”

“Of course I do! You think I’ve lived a boring life? I have a record!”

“Let me guess, the parking ticket you got in 1977 that you confessed in your column last week?”

“Ah... so you know about that..... my past....”

“A parking ticket from 1977 doesn’t qualify as a “past” Ms. Flynn. Not even close. We have officers working here who were born in 1980.”

“Give me your other hand,” he said sounding so innocent, but I knew there was a double meaning there.

“I see you have a copy machine,” I said seductively. “Sometimes people copy unusual things...”

“Don’t even think it, Ms. Flynn. We don’t need a copy of anything you’ve got, we can already identify you at fifty paces.”

“Oh... well... I always try to be memorable.”

“We can smell your perfume before you turn the corner. The bright red forties lipstick...the neon clothing....a voice that carries through concrete...a silhouette that blocks out the sun...have you ever thought of dialing it all down a bit?”

“No, not really. I don’t want to run the risk of not being noticed.”

“I think you’re safe there, Ms. Flynn.”

He handed me another little pad to clean off all my fingers and I left. I felt bad once I got in the car. I probably shouldn’t have tempted him like that. That place is full of cameras. No wonder he didn’t feel free to flirt. I’ll have to meet him by accident somewhere, away from the station so we can talk. I may have to park illegally again. Twice in one lifetime. I don’t know if I should. On the other hand, danger makes me feel so alive...