The Cableman was smart. Where-as most installers called in their routes upon completion; the Cableman waited until close to 5:00, quitting time, before announcing his route complete. That way, he could enjoy some leisure time while on the job.
No one ever ventured to this off-beaten path of the forest preserve, at least to the Cableman's belief. Being the case, he felt safe from watching eyes that could call the number on his truck and report suspicious activities. The Cableman reached behind his seat for a fully-packed, 3-foot graphic-slider-bong. Transparent and dull-blue in color; one could see that it was half filled with water that would soon filter the harshness of marijuana smoke.
The Cableman put the graphic-slider-bong to his mouth and then torched the bowl piece with a lighter while deeply inhaling. Immediately a cloud of white, cannabis smoke gurgled through the water and into his lungs. He held the smoke in for as long as he could and then quickly exhaled the used cloud out the van window. Being that it was such a sweltering, hot day with no wind; the vapors could only slowly drift away. This concerned the Cableman, some. What if someone walked by and noticed the cloud?
After 30 seconds, the Cableman took another deep hit from his graphic-slider-bong and held it in for as long as possible. He slowly exhaled and watched the cloud drift away. This exercise was repeated again and again until the bowl piece had been nearly cashed. It was at this point when the Cableman took notice of how dreamy and pixilated the surrounding world appeared. That moment felt terribly like some television show, almost as-if he could see himself on a TV screen. This was the Cableman's reference indicator of being megally-stoned.
Suddenly, the dispatcher squawked over the radio, "Base to 811!" The office was looking for him! Panic flushed throughout the Cableman's veins. He quickly keyed the microphone, "Yeah go ahead, Base?" The dispatcher squawked back, "Okay, I was wondering if you had time to swing over to 722 Ruby Lane. The customer complains that her neighbor tried burying a line from their side of the house and tapped into their cable. Could you see if there's some cable theft going on?" Hearing of cable theft was enough to jolt the Cableman straight. The thrill of catching a criminal was his ultimate professional rush. He firmly keyed into the microphone and replied, "I'll get right on it!" Chugging the remains of his Arizona Iced Tea and donning his dark Cableman utility sunglasses, he vowed: nobody steals cable in the Cableman's jurisdiction—nobody!
Fifteen minutes later, the Cableman reached the customer's house at 722 Ruby Lane. Intimidating and appearing to mean business, he clicked up the driveway with his steel-toed work boots, leather tool belt dangling at the side, and company shirt with a logo. Sure enough, upon reaching the side of the house, he discovered a makeshift cable-burial that ran from the neighbor's house over to the customer's. A cheap splitter had been attached to the customer's incoming cable so that some of it could be fed over to the neighbor's. The Cableman was livid! He immediately began taking photographs with his phone camera for evidence.
Just then, he noticed a flash of red. A gorgeous blonde—the prime suspect—was backing a red, convertible Mustang out of the neighboring garage. The Cableman swore under his breath. The suspect was getting away! She was a flight risk and couldn't escape his justice! The Cableman rushed back into his van, slipped the transmission into "drive" and peeled off, following behind the Mustang. He activated the rotating, orange light on the roof of his van, followed by the hazards, using every non-standard means he possessed to signal her to pull over.
Finally, the driver, a petite woman named Rachel, noticed the cable van behind her. "Oh, no! I'm being pulled over! Why?" she thought, moving over to the right-hand shoulder. She was astonished to see a cable company van signaling her to stop. With his lights still activated, the Cableman stepped out of the van. Steel-toed boots clicking on the road, he approached the Mustang. "Good afternoon, Ma'am. It looks like you've been stealing cable. That's a serious offense," he stated, leaning in.
Rachel stared at him, defensive and disbelieving. "No! You can't pull me over! You're with the cable company, not a cop! I wasn't stealing cable!"
The Cableman ordered, "Please step out of your car!"
"I can't believe this! This is unreal!" Rachel did as ordered while assaulting the Cableman with an angry and confused glare. Did he really have the authority to do this?
The Cableman reached into his leather tool belt, pulled out two large zip-ties, and joined them together. "At this time, you're being detained for questioning regarding a felony-level service theft. You will be brought down to the office for interrogation," he stated with stern, misguided authority. He quickly secured her hands behind her back with the makeshift cuffs and aggressively escorted her to the back of his van.
"What are you doing? You can't do this! Is this some kind of joke?" Rachel cried, trying to resist his grip.
Once inside the stifling hot van, the Cableman secured her to the grated aluminum wall that separated the front from the back. The heat in the sealed van was immediately oppressive. Shelves occupied the sidewalls and held secured boxes of fittings, cables, splitters, filters along with converter boxes and small infrastructure used to feed customers’ homes. Separating the front of the van from the back was a grated, aluminum wall that not only provided a view of the tool and equipment area from the driver seat, but also provided a means to hang various equipment if needed.
"Don't worry about your car. We'll get a tow truck to impound it," he said, the adrenaline still coursing through him. He briefly left to roll up both windows, making the van completely sealed and soundproof to prevent her calls for help from alarming the surrounding citizens. Returning, he fixed her with a hard look. "I know about the illegal line running to your neighbor's house. Who else is involved in this scheme?" he demanded.
"I don't know what you're talking about! Let me out!" Rachel yelled, sweating profusely in the heat.
"I can do this the hard way or the easy way," he threatened. Stepping out to the front seat, he grabbed a large, orange popsicle he’d picked up earlier at a convenient store. He returned to the back, wielding the cold treat. "Let's see if this heat and a little time to cool down change your mind," he said, intentionally scraping the cold, icy pop against her cheek. Rachel flinched, her eyes wide with fear and confusion at his strange, unprofessional methods. The Cableman could see the psychological toll of the heat and her detention was beginning to break her resolve. But he could see she wasn't quite ready to talk just yet. Maybe there was another tactic.
The Cableman stepped out the back of the truck and returned to the driver side where he rolled both windows down. The rotating and flashing hazards lights were deactivated, transmission slipped back into drive and the Cableman pulled off, en route to his office.
"We'll see what they do to you once we rach the office" The he offered her a truce. "I'm going through the drive-through at Culver’s. Do you want a Concrete Mixer? If you tell me the truth, we can resolve this before we get back to the office."
Rachel, desperate and overheated, simply nodded for the cold treat. "Vanilla," she managed.
***
A few minutes later, the Cableman returned to the back of the van with the frozen custard. He spoon-fed her the Mixer, letting the icy cold briefly alleviate the distress. In between bites, he pressed her. "So, why don't you tell me a little bit about stealing cable? Who ran that line?"
Finally, she broke, panting in the heat. "It was my boyfriend! He ran the line over to my neighbor's house so we could have free cable. There, I confessed! Now please just let me out of this heat!"
The Cableman stepped back, his chest heaving with triumph. The truth was out. He removed the restraints. "Well, seeing that you've confessed and identified the primary suspect, you're free to go. You can sit in the front seat and ride with me back to your car. Thank you for being so cooperative this afternoon.”
Twenty minutes later, the Cableman dropped Rachel off by her little, red, convertible Mustang and peeled off back to the office. It was 5:00—quitting time! Justice had been served, even if the "arrest" was wildly outside the job description.
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