I’m a pretty easygoing person in most circumstances. I’m happy to go along with the group if it makes things a little simpler for everyone else, but I have noticed that not all people are like that. Some people don’t care if it’s easier. If they don’t agree with the group consensus, they’re going to go their own way.
For some people, sometimes it just has to be chicken.
I know that doesn’t make any sense right now, but I promise, it will soon.
When I was assigned to work at the Rio Cosumnes Correctional Center (RCCC) twenty years ago, I met a Deputy there named Edgar. Edgar was a really sweet guy, but he was the type of person that was always going to do things his way.
Also, while I worked at RCCC, I had a sergeant that taught Interview and Interrogation classes. My sergeant, Carl, came to me one day and asked if I would like to attend one of his upcoming classes because he had a couple empty spots still available.
Having been to hundreds of hours of training in the past couple years, I didn’t really want to go. However, as a new employee, I also did not want to tell my sergeant I wasn’t interested in going to his training class. Telling your boss, no, usually isn’t the best way to get onto his good side.
As I was trying to think of a polite way to decline that wouldn’t get me assigned to kitchen duty with the jail inmates, Carl happened to mention the class was being held in Las Vegas.
Let me say that again: Las Vegas!
In addition, he had recently purchased a brand-new motorhome which he planned to drive to the class. He said, a few other deputies were already going, but he had room in his vehicle for one more.
“Let me get this straight,” I said. “You are going to drive me to Las Vegas in your motorhome for free.”
“Yes,” he said.
“And the County of Sacramento is paying for the training? They are going to pay for my room and food while I’m there?”
“Yes.”
I’ve done a lot of stupid things in my life but turning down a free trip to Las Vegas isn’t one of them.
“When do we leave?” I asked.
We left about two weeks later. There were five of us in the motorhome for the trip. Carl was driving, and lounging in the back of the RV were me and three other deputies: Kevin, Joe … and Edgar.
Driving to Las Vegas from Sacramento takes about 9 hours on the best of days, and that’s if you drive the whole way without stopping. We weren’t doing that. We were all growing boys and we were going to need to stop and get something to eat at least once during the drive.
It was early afternoon and we were cruising through some tiny town in the middle of nowhere. I don’t know exactly where we were because I rarely pay attention to what’s going on around me in the best of circumstances. I just happened to look out the window and noticed a cluster of buildings and restaurant signs around us. Everyone agreed they were hungry and that it was time to take a short break.
Edgar noticed a KFC nearby and suggested we stop for chicken. He was quickly vetoed as the rest of us were in the mood for burgers. Edgar sat quietly, staring out the window at the KFC sign dwindling in the distance behind us. I swear he sighed a couple of times, and there may have been a small tear in his eye.
A couple miles down the road we found a Burger King and Carl turned into the parking lot.
The plan was to stop, use the bathroom, get food, and get back on the road as quickly as possible. We figured the whole process shouldn’t take more than fifteen or twenty minutes.
We all bailed out of the RV, went into Burger King and ordered. When we had our meals, we piled back into the motorhome, ready to hit the road again. Except, we couldn’t leave.
Somebody was missing.
“Where the hell is Edgar?” Carl asked, looking at us like we were playing some sort of practical joke on him and had Edgar tied up on the roof of the vehicle.
We all shook our heads. Nobody had any idea where he was. The last I had seen of him, he was getting out of the motorhome with the rest of us. After that, where he ended up was anybody’s guess.
“Maybe he got kidnapped,” I suggested.
“Well, if he doesn’t show up in five minutes, I’m leaving without him,” Carl told us. “We can report him to the police as a missing person when we get to Vegas.”
He didn’t show up in five minutes. He didn’t show up in ten minutes. Fifteen minutes later, Carl was starting the engine and getting ready to pull out of the parking lot when we saw a speck in the distance running toward us on the sidewalk. When the speck got closer, we could see it was Edgar, and he was carrying a KFC bag in his hands.
Edgar had run two miles, ordered food at KFC, then run two miles back to the RV.
I wouldn’t run four miles if my life depended on it. Edgar had just done it for two pieces of chicken and a biscuit.
Carl opened the door and let Edgar in. “Please tell me you didn’t do what I think you just did,” he said.
Edgar shrugged with a big grin on his face, sat down, and started digging through his bag of food. “I wanted chicken,” he told us.
I suppose you’ve got to respect a guy who knows what he wants.
And Edgar wanted chicken.
.
.
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