Don’t get me wrong –  I love to drink.  I’m a cop. Regardless of what the therapists and overpaid “experts” will tell you, I think it’s a spectacular way to deal with my emotions.


But I like to do it with other cops.  Or my wife. Or my dog.  Or my Netflix.  Definitely not at parties.


As a matter of fact, I absolutely hate parties.  Yes, I know, when you see me at them I’m all cheery.  But it’s only because I’m thinking of things that are much more enjoyable than you and your red pepper jam covered cheese log.


Wondering why cops hate parties?  Allow me to explain.


1) Your introductions suck.


“Hey Bill!  Meet my friend Sgt. A. Merica.  He’s a cop.”


That’s the first place you went wrong.  I’m a person too, not just a cop.  Did you introduce Billy Boy to me and go, “Oh, meet Billy – he’s a drywall installer?” No.  You didn’t.


Now I need to listen to Billy talk about all of those times he got pulled over.


Wanna know a secret? I don’t care, Billy.  You drive like an ass.  You deserve to get pulled over.  Speaking of… that brings me to number 2.


2) I don’t want to share cop stories.


Talk to me about football. Politics.  Religion.  ANYTHING but policing.


I’m not going to tell you the story about the guy I had to smoke.  I’m not going to get you out of that ticket.  I REALLY don’t want to hear about how you beat that DUI checkpoint.


And sure – you go on thinking that “Live PD” is real.  So is the WWE, the Easter Bunny and Hillary Clinton’s shot at being our next President.


(Ok – maybe you shouldn’t talk to me about politics.)


3) You judge me for drinking.


I’m not drinking because I’m dealing with post-traumatic stress.  I’m drinking because I like the taste of whiskey.  I’m drinking because your party sucks.  I’m drinking because your little Yorkie is running around the party sounding more like a dying rat than an actual dog.  Crate that thing before I cook it.


I’m not going to drink and then get behind the wheel.  My wife is driving.  Or Uber is.  I don’t get a special pass because I’m a cop – and neither do you.


You’re busy judging me for my second drink, but in the meantime, your wife is so hammered and loud that the neighbors are going to call the cops.


And who does everyone expect to answer the door when they show up?  That’s right.  Me.


And this, ladies and gentlemen, are the top three reasons why cops hate parties. I miss any?