In Them Cotton Fields Back Home

People (unfairly) make fun of police officers in some of the southern states of the U.S. For decades, these hard-working law enforcers have been pictured in movies and TV shows and ridiculed by comedians as being slow-talking dummies who couldn’t tell a knuckle from a kneecap. Hardy, har, har.

Well, this respectful writer has had enough and it’s time this travesty stopped. And I am particularly upset with the woman in Georgia who spent three months in jail after two deputies mistakenly said a field test of a blue substance found in a car she was in turned up positive for methamphetamine because she is, of course, suing them.

Small point: The substance wasn’t meth. It was cotton candy.

Yes, the officers pulled over Dasha Fincher in a regular traffic stop and very observantly noticed a big bag with blue fluffy stuff in the back seat. They used a field kit to test it and sure enough, they decided, the candy floss contained meth. Well, yes, they were wrong but who among us wouldn’t mistake candy floss for a dangerous illegal drug?

Not one to let honest mistakes go, the bitter Ms. Fincher claims that while she was in jail she missed several major life events, including the birth of twin grandchildren, and was refused medical care for a broken hand and ovarian cyst. So, she’s suing everybody but the Pope.

I think she is overreacting. But to be safe, eat up all your cotton candy before you cross the border into Monroe County, Georgia. They’re tough on that stuff down there. And I don’t blame them one bit. Next thing you know, someone will be trying to sneak bags of caramel popcorn through their jurisdiction. And we all know there could be anything in that stuff. Nothing natural could taste that good.

©2018 Jim Hagarty

Author: Jim Hagarty

I am a 72-year-old retired journalist, busy recovering from a lifelong career as an unretired journalist. This year marks a half century of my scratching out little fables about life. My interests include genealogy, humour and music. I live in a little blue shack in Canada and spend most of my time trying to stay out of trouble. I am not that good at it. I also spent years teaching journalism. Poor state of journalism today: My fault. I have a family I don't deserve, a dog that adores me, and two cars the junk yard refuses to accept. My prized possessions include my old guitar and a razor my Dad gave me when I was 14 and which I still use when I bother to shave. Oh, and my great-great-grandfather's blackthorn stick he brought from Ireland in the 1850s. I have only one opinion but it is a good one: People take too many showers.