In late September of 1979, it was a clear crisp day, the sun beaming through the blue, cloudless sky. I worked as a police officer in the town of Bloomfield, Connecticut.
I sat in my police car, writing a report, and glanced up from my note pad, only to see a beautiful, young woman passing by.
She gave a wave and a big smile, then drove quickly by and out of sight.
That scenario reminded me of the scene from the movie, “American Graffiti” when Curt sees a fleeting glimpse of a gorgeous, smiling blonde in a white Thunderbird. Then, poof, she vanished.
But unlike Curt, I had a slight advantage. Namely, a police car with flashing lights. Off I went, in search of this mysterious, beautiful Goddess in a brown station wagon.
I flicked on my overheads and headed onto the roadway, quickly accelerating in an attempt to catch up to her.
But a slow moving pickup truck blocked me from that. I glimpsed her pulling into a strip mall; by the time I pulled into the lot, she had vanished into one of the shops.
My best guess was that she had entered a dress shop; smack in the middle of a deli on one side and a pharmacy on the other.
When I drove to the front of the shop, there she was, looking out from the large glass door.
She spotted me. I waved, she waved. But no smile issued from her gorgeous face. She abruptly turned and walked deep into the dress shop.
I pictured Curt, down trodden, defeated. Love lost.
My thoughts went from, “She thinks I’m hideous” to, “She’s probably dialing the police Chief right now!”
I drove from the lot, beaten, nervous, humiliated.
Moments later, the police radio crackled. It was a fellow officer asking me to meet him in the police lot. I envisioned the Chief exiting the car, approaching me and pulling me from my cruiser. Handcuffs. Fingerprints. Mug shot. Slapping me around. My career was over!
When I pulled into the lot, I was greeted by Al, a fellow officer and good friend. He was smiling.
“Hey, Tone” he began, “did you see a girl drive by and wave to you a little bit ago?”
“Uh, yeah, how did you know? Did the Chief tell you?” I shifted nervously in my seat.
“The Chief? No, no. She’s a friend of mine. She thought you were me!”
A sense of relief shimmered through me. Imagine the Chief trying to cuff me! Good luck, Pal!
“So Tone, do you want to meet her? I’m not dating her or anything. She’s just a friend.”
“Sure. I would love to meet her.”
Later that night, while still on duty, I met Judy at an exclusive restaurant, compliments of my good friend, Al. Actually it was at the Jim Dandy’s Fried Chicken store.
When I saw her up close, I almost gasped. She was the most beautiful women I had ever seen! But being the consummate professional police officer that I was, with extensive training in interviewing and sizing people up, I uttered my most professional line.
“Hi there.” I said. Always professional, was I.
She smiled and said, “Hi!”
I giggled. She laughed. I offered her a French fry.
She accepted, and said, “Thanks!”
I shot her a “there ya go” finger.
I was in love!
That evening I asked her out on a date for the following night. She said yes.
And now, 40 years hence, she is somehow still saying “yes.”