After a brief respite from posting any new stories of our adventures here in the bitter cold Texas Panhandle, I'll pick up where I slacked off with a story about two motorcycle police, Indian food, and The Finger.
I met Suzanne for lunch at our token Indian restaurant today. Right outside the restaurant's parking lot, in the turning lane of a busy street, sat two motorcycle cops. They looked pretty serious, creepy in a way, like that police metal-robot from Terminator 2. I thought they both had Charlie Chaplin mustaches, but it was only their fuzzy Madonna-style microphones that gave the illusion of upper lip facial hair. Occasionally one of them would peel out from the turning lane and chase down an unwitting law breaker, but most of the time the two of them simply sat there, looking intimidating.
A few minutes after we sat down and started eating, Suzanne pointed out the window and told me to take a look. Across the street, on the far sidewalk, was a very curious fellow. He stood on the edge of the curb and, with violent shaking motions, kept thrusting both middle fingers in the direction of the police. I think he must have had too much coffee because he was frantic, his motions spastic and wild. At first I thought he had something on his fingers and was trying to shake it off, but after a minute it became pretty obvious that this guy just liked flipping off the police, vibrato style.
For ten minutes this is how it went: he would pace up and down the sidewalk, never going more than five feet in either direction. Then he'd stop, express his frustration with law enforcement by demonstrating his talent at holding up both middle fingers at the same time, then he'd pace again. You know those old Westerns where the clerk has to get a Morse Code message out on the telegraph in the nick of time? His finger rattles off code quicker than you can say "Jack's a granny." Well, take the telegraph, put it in the air, flip it upside down, and tap away on it. That's how fast this guy was shaking his middle finger at the police.
The restaurant manager declared that this guy wasn't right in the head. The manager even made the finger-swirly motion next to his head to demonstrate insanity. Alas, though, when the police were done with their rounds, Crazy Mr. Fingers flipped them off as they drove past him, and then, with nothing more to be angry at, he shuffled off, his pants a little droopy around his waist, and disappeared behind a dumpster at the Imperial Chinese Buffet a block away.
I found out when we were leaving that the police always hunt speeders in that spot every Thursday. The restaurant guys think it's great sport to watch them. They said 20 people had been pulled over in the last hour. So here's a hint: if you're in Amarillo on Thursdays, be careful around the intersection of I-40 and Paramount. You might get a ticket, or you might get Mr. Tall shaken at you. Either way, it'll ruin your day.

