There I am, staggering through the briefing room in search of a coffee pot when my Sergeant lays a fatherly arm across my shoulders.
"'Dog," sayeth that worthy, "I just received a grievance from TDC."
I blink at him, muzzily.
"Seems like one of our prison-bound inmates has complained that the deputy who transported him to durance vile provided him with an actual child's Happy Meal from McDonalds for lunch on said trip."
I can smell coffee. It's here. Somewhere.
"According to the inmate, when he protested, this deputy confiscated the toy from said Happy Meal, hooked it into the partition between the seats, and ... I am quoting here ... 'Made it talk smack', unquote, to the inmate for the rest of the trip."
"In a high, squeaky voice."
Where are you, little caffeine jolt of life?
"The worst of it all -- according to the inmate -- was the toy staring at him for the next six hours. You wouldn't happen to know if any of our officers might be inclined to do something like this, would you?"
Oh, holy days -- the warrants crew brought coffee! May flights of angels sing thee to thy rest! Coffeecoffeecoffee!
"Yeah, I didn't think so."
"Huh?" I respond, wittily, as the Blessed Java Bean of Wakefulness starts firing up the old synapses.
"Nothing, 'Dog. Check with Range about firearm re-qual next week."