by Lucinda Ulrich
Daily Lobo columnist
Ever seen that bumper sticker - the one that asks something like, "What if the military had to hold a bake sale to buy bombs?" The one that makes you think while waiting for the light to change, in a moment of self-indulgent, no-holds-barred, bleeding-heart liberal abandon, "Yeah, what if?"
The rose colored fantasy fades into the desert sand as you race toward your next destination. Bake sale indeed - that'll never happen.
Well, actually, it has, in part.
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Now, not only do schools still have to hold fund-raisers, via massive mom-driven bake sales of brittle cookies and dry brownies in order to afford decent band uniforms, but our local police force - that's right, Albuquerque, our very own police force, coming to a domestic violence call near you - is holding an adult version of a bake sale in your neighborhood grocery store. It seems that while this country can afford to send troops to Iraq come hell or high water - pun intended - or fund a massive standardized testing effort through the No Child Left Behind Act, they can't seem to figure out how to supply local police officers with bulletproof vests.
There I was, standing in line, looking over all the groceries in my cart - wondering if I could afford the 100 percent certified Angus Beef lunch meat at $8.99 per pound, hoping my credit card wouldn't be declined and thinking about why it costs $40 to fill my Honda.
While scanning the magazine rack, I remember it's because of the hurricane, that's right, all those homeless - what? RenÇe Zellweger is getting divorced already? After four months? She can't believe it. Does anybody?
But wait - the cashier is ringing up my groceries. It's finger-crossing time.
"One hundred six dollars and fifty one cents," I heard the cashier say.
I gulp down some air and manage to squeak, "Even with the discount?"
She nods knowingly, staring at my daughter dangling her legs in the shopping cart.
Luckily, my card works, but before I can leave - "Would you like to donate some money to buy the police bulletproof vests?" For a moment, while I was shoving my grocery receipt into the pocket of my tattered thrift store pants, time stood still.
"Bulletproof vests? You've got to be kidding me."
But she wasn't.
"Unbelievable!" I said, in my train-wreck, shouting-far-above-normal-speaking-volume sort of way. "You mean to tell me that the police department can't afford to buy bulletproof vests?"
"Yep."
Was the severity of this question lost on this woman, or had she been numbed by long hours of swiping people's apples, turnips and discounted corn bread over those red lasers? She didn't seem freaked out, but I was.
In fact, I was so freaked out I handed her a dollar.
Has it really gotten that bad? I mean, I can barely pay my own bills, put food on my table, support myself through graduate school and raise a toddler. I'm a disgruntled and rejected Medicaid recipient for God's sake, and the Man is hitting me up for a handout?
It seems that while we can put a man on the moon, send thousands of soldiers overseas, and force state education departments to go bankrupt, we can't figure out how to buy bulletproof vests for Albuquerque's finest to look respectable on this week's episode of "Cops."
We can't have cops lying dead on reality TV, now can we? That would be too much reality, and some bad PR for the home of the Balloon Fiesta, so let's hold a fund-raiser and hit up struggling, but hard-working Americans for every last cent. Otherwise, disorder and chaos may rear its ugly head and there might be riots in the streets, and we - and by we I mean the mayor - can't have that.
I guess bumper stickers do come true. It's not exactly a bake sale, but it's close enough.
