When entering a military installation you are required to stop at the gate and show your ID. Up until a few months ago we had MPs (military police) checking the IDs. They were professional and perfunctory. They crisply saluted the officers, told people to drive safe or have a nice day or said nothing. It was all very standard and efficient. Enter the rent a cops.

To cut costs they have hired some rent a cops to help “guard” the gates. Of course there are still a few MPs toting M16s there, on the off chance a terrorist drives to the gate and starts shooting people, but most of the time you are greeted by the rent a cop. This would be fine, but quite a few of them have a false sense of power and grandiosity that make them, to be blunt, ridiculous. These guys are required to salute uniformed officers. It is not hard to tell who these people are. First off, they are in uniform. Now, a lot of guys salute anyone in uniform just to play it safe. I can understand this. It is safer to cover all your bases, and the general courtesy to everyone can be easier than ogling the person’s arm patch through a tinted window. (When I say salute, I mean that in the loosest term of the word, as when some of these people attempt to salute they look more like they are going to knock themselves out with a swift backhand. I’m not kidding. I should try to get a picture of this to show you guys. It is ludicrous at best.)

Here’s what I don’t get. Why is it that half of these guys salute (if the spastic arm movement can be called that) me? I’m driving up to the gate with two screaming kids in the back, and I am clearly not wearing a uniform. So why the attempted salute? Are they practicing? I guess that’s ok. They clearly need the practice and I can always use a laugh.

On top of this they have to comment on everything. One day our family pulled up to the gate and the rent a cop, let’s call him Porky because I think it is a good name for him, Porky, checks Chris’ ID, squats down to survey the passengers in the car, takes a long hard look at the two year old and infant and the woman with the wedding ring sitting next to Chris, then gruffly asks him, “can you vouch for the people in your car?” The only appropriate response to this is sarcasm, however, Porky seems to think himself rather important and will probably haul our butts to the office for a snide remark, so here is what we didn’t say:

“No, sir. You see that baby back there? That kid is perpetually packing C-4 in her diaper. Every time I change it I’m finding new explosive devices. Would you change her diaper and check for us?”

“No. That two year old actually has several aliases. The one he currently goes by is Hussein Alhir Osama Bin Laden Poopy Pants, and I am absolutely certain he has something subversive planned. Please take him and arrest him.”

“Yeah, my wife here? I’m really not sure if I can trust her on base. I mean, she has clearance, no criminal record, not even a traffic ticket, but isn’t it always the nice ones who snap and blow up air force bases? Take my wife, please.”

What we said was, “yeah.” Then we laughed and rolled our eyes at Porky all the way home.

The other guy who amuses us is the mumbler. The mumbler asks for not just the driver’s ID, but the passenger’s as well. This isn’t that big of a deal. However, when he gets the IDs he reads them aloud to himself, veeeery slowly and under his breath. Then I watch his eyes go back and forth between the two cards checking who knows what for two minutes while traffic piles up behind us and the baby’s crying goes from whimpering to hysterics. Jerk.

Now, of course there are a few rent a cops who are very efficient and who do their jobs well. They exchange a pleasantry or two while checking the IDs then send you on your way. I appreciate them and all they do to keep us safe. The weird ones I am going to thank for providing such rich material to blog about.