“When police later contacted DFD Chief Rick Weatherstone, they learned that Carroll had been expected to turn in her Ladies Auxiliary badge when she left the group about a year and a half ago, but that she clearly hadn’t.”—Fake Officer Threatens Arrest Over Free Periodical, Darren Patch, CT
No one I know in Miami can remember seeing men in jump suits, yellow or otherwise. Willeford once wrote that “Poe was a bullshit artist.” He couldn’t have written a better epitaph for himself, unless it was what the crime writer James Crumley once said of him: “He’s kidding when he’s not kidding.”
When I tell people I write about restaurants for a living (or for at least part of my living; I’m not privileged enough to live off my stomach entirely and I doubt I ever will be), they always ask the same questions. I know what they’re going to say before they even open their mouths; they get a curious look on their face and I just know what they’re going to say next. It’s one of four things.
They ask, “Do the restaurants know you’re coming? Do you tell them who you are?”
Then they ask, “Do you pay for the meals yourself?”
And then, “Do you get to bring your friends?”
Finally, “Do you get to choose where you eat?”
Sometimes the order changes, but they always ask all of those questions. I don’t know, if our positions were reversed, whether I’d ask the same things, but I’d bet good odds that I would. I like asking people about their jobs, and the four big questions really speak to what people, including me, are always curious about: secrets, money, companionship, free will.