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The one cop bar in Chicago that I visit with some frequency is an interesting experience. When you walk in, ten or twelve pairs of eyes try to connect your face to the ones on their mental "wanted" list. The cops sit on the side of the bar where the right-handed ones have a clean(er) draw on the front door, the firemen on the other.

I was there once with one of my Marine buddies (both of us very well lubricated), when he took exception to some knucklehead who was "exaggerating" his military experience. I had the pleasure of watching a five-second demonstration of open-hand fighting technique. My first reaction was "if these cops get up, I'm screwed." My second, "will I be out of the jail/emergency room in time for my brother's birthday party." My third, "why are these cops not getting-up."

Turns out that the guy getting pummelled was not a cop, and some of the cops were Marines themselves.

Here's the interesting thing: after the fireworks, one of the cops gets up, walks over to me (I haven't moved), and says, "You guys can't stay here. Do you need help getting home?"

I have a feeling that I'd be out of place there.

We had a few Chicago PD guys come out our way for a mountain bike patrol course a few years back. I won't paint the whole PD with a broad brush here, but talking with these two guys was difficult, like explaining things to an arrogant superiority complex