I’ll never forget my first St. Patrick’s Day as a cop.
Unlike others, I was excited to work that day. Coming from a long line of Irish descendants, I love everything about the holiday.
Special note: I’m also not offended by the old school term “Paddy Wagon”. If you’re offended by that, chances are you’re not actually Irish.
So there I am, patrolling the streets of downtown Savannah, Georgia where I’ve taken part in countless St. Patrick’s Day celebrations on the drinking end. Did you know we actually have one of the largest in the world in Savannah, by the way?
The day started off great. A couple of hot blondes who were a little tipsy came running up to me and planted two green smooches on my cheeks. Boom. This day was going to be great.
(If you’re offended by that, you belong in that Paddy Wagon, for the record.)
And then this bear of a dude comes stumbling up to me. He’s happy-go-lucky. He’s smiling. He’s asking me for a hug.
“What the hell?” I think. Rookie mistake.
He takes a step closer… and suddently his face turns the color of his beer. And before I can step out of the way… it happens.
Lucky Charms and green beer explode out of his mouth all over me. Straight up projectile vomit. It’s a thing. It actually happens. I learned it that day.
As if that wasn’t bad enough, my mouth was open. I literally ingested his vomit.
And like any grown man would do… I immediately began to vomit.
And in that moment, I decided St. Patrick’s Day is the shittiest holiday a cop can work. Here are the other reasons why:
- We have to work instead of enjoying the day and festivities.
It’s no fun being the sober guy. It’s also no fun being the guy who people puke on. Or the guy who everyone hates because you have to arrest them for drunk driving. Being on the receiving end of the partying that first year changed me. Now I can’t help but to think to myself, “why can’t people get their shit together?”
- Too much green beer, corned beef and cabbage combined with over indulging amateurs is not what we call fun.
It’s not just the puking. Beer and cabbage make for some of the worst gas in the world. I mean it. I know, reading about it is disgusting.
But if you think that’s bad, try smelling it from tens of thousands of people in unison. Alexandra Ortez Cortez or whatever the hell her super not Irish name is needs to refocus her “green” deal. Cow farts aren’t the problem. Leprechaun farts are.
- My name isn’t Officer Murphy, Clancy, O’Leary or such, and not all of us are Irish.
Trust me. My partner is a straight up goomba (I once hooked up with an Italian broad, so I can say that) and there’s something in the dude’s DNA that makes him hate anyone who calls him anything Irish.
- Green beer vomit in the back of my squad car!
Have I made my point about the puke yet?
- It’s St. Patrick’s Day or St. Paddy’s Day, it’s never St. Patty’s day…. LEARN IT.
Sorry, that was my Irish temper flaring up.
- No, I won’t kiss you because you’re Irish.
I’ll only kiss you if you’re an attractive blonde. When my shift is over. And your boyfriend isn’t looking. Because I have integrity, damnit.
- Your silly green hats, glasses and shirts look cute and funny for about 5 minutes. However, after drinking all day…. not so much.
Those outfits go downhill FAST. What do you expect? You paid $2.95 from a street vendor. They didn’t make it through your first bar in the hop, and now you look like an Irishman who just lost a fight. With a bear.
- Trying to clear the crowds and fights at closing time in the Irish pubs, is not our idea of a good time.
Did I mention green beer vomit? The good news is that I learned that when a drunk tries to fight me, a little gut check and a bob of my head leaves the guy puking while I put handcuffs on him. So I guess there’s that.
- We realize that many of you won’t remember what you did or how you acted under the influence. But if you end up in a jail cell on March 18th, believe me when I say you acted like a complete dumbass. Because you have to be a world class idiot to get arrested on St. Patrick’s Day.
See earlier comment about trying to fight me.
- You’re not even Irish, damnit. In two months you’re going to be chugging margaritas and screaming “aye papi” in the streets.
Pick a heritage and stick with it, damnit. You’ve got a drinking problem.
Perhaps I’m a little salty. After all, becoming a cop DID make me hate my favorite holiday.