The way they treated me should be a crime

Tuesday night was National Night Out, an exciting annual event where neighbors and law enforcers stuff their faces with barbecue chicken and other tasty grub and, oh yeah, talk about crime prevention.

Naturally, I had to get involved.

You know me. When it comes to vital issues of the day, nothing is more important to me than the prospect of free food.

I intended to eat my way through all of the Spokane-area potlucks – until I realized how much gasoline this would require.

The price of gas is affecting everything these days.

Even burglars are having to carpool.

But then I learned that Jennifer DeRuwe, the Spokane Police Department’s public information officer, would be chauffeuring Chief Anne Kirkpatrick to several of the parties.

“What time can you pick me up?” I asked DeRuwe after calling her cell number.

Several moments of spluttering later, DeRuwe managed to emit a strained and high-pitched “Are you serious?”

She told me what I wanted was impossible because Spokane Mayor Mary Verner would also be riding in the car.

Even better, I told DeRuwe. “It’ll be like a date.”

The officer said she’d call me back after checking with her boss and probably taking a Valium.

My phone rang a half-hour later. DeRuwe told me that Kirkpatrick said OK, but that I’d have to ride in the front seat so the chief and the mayor could keep an eye on me.

She told me to wait in front of the newspaper building and she’d pick me up at 5 p.m.

DeRuwe rolled up 20 minutes late, driving the chief’s new Chevy Impala. Kirkpatrick, in uniform, hopped out of the front seat and stood expectantly next to the rear door.

“If this is a date, you have to open my door,” she told me.

No problem. I am a gentleman. And the chief is a lady who carries a very mean-looking gun.

The next stop was City Hall to pick up Verner. At the sight of the mayor, the chief reached over the seat and grabbed the hand microphone.

“Hold your hands above your head and turn AROUND!” blared Kirkpatrick through the car’s loudspeaker.

The mayor cheerfully complied.

“If I’m going to lose my job,” the chief quipped, “I’m going out on a high note.”

And people think I’m a loon.

Soon we were on our way to our first event, which was a good thing because my stomach was as devoid of substance as the mayor’s recent failed tax proposal.

We drove on East Sprague. Not a hooker in sight. They must have been at the anti-crime gatherings.

We stopped at Pittsburg where a small gathering of citizens and luminaries awaited.

“Oh, boy,” I thought. “Food.”

Yeah, right. Each time I tried to amble over to the refreshment table, DeRuwe or Kirkpatrick or someone would introduce me to a state corrections official.

And not in the most flattering way, either.

“He’s Walla Walla material,” Kirkpatrick told Eldon Vail, the Department of Corrections head.

The mayor mentioned something about me writing unflattering columns about her city.

Where does she get this stuff?

With all the badgering, I never even picked up a free beverage, let alone something chewable. The terrible trio ordered me back into the car.

“Where are we going now?” I asked, praying that wherever it was, it had a decent meat dish.

A few minutes later, DeRuwe announced that we had arrived.

Huh? We were stopped at a red light, a block away from the newspaper.

“You’ve gotta go,” said the chief.

“You were a quick, easy date,” added DeRuwe.

The mayor just sat there. Smiling.

“But I even put on a clean shirt,” I told them.

“Gotta go,” repeated the chief.

It was my turn to splutter. These women had used me for their sport – call it “The Sisterhood of the Traveling Doug.” Now they were dumping me off on the curb like last week’s garbage.

Well, I learned my lesson. That’s the last crime prevention potluck I’ll go to with the chief and the mayor.

Next year I’ll hitch a ride with some burglars.