Fear and Clothing
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One recent morning, unable to resist taking in some of that warm OC sun at my home in Laguna Beach, I finally gave in: I sunbathed. You can understand my hesitation: just days before, I only just escaped a public-nudity ticket because I bared my breasts at a local beach.
So it seemed the deck of my own home would be safe, right?
Wrong. Just as I was beginning to doze off, you—one of OC's finest, dressed in uniform—entered my private property to inform me that you are also a photographer, had "noticed" me, and wanted to take some pictures of me.
So listen up, asshole: if you're gonna perve out in public, I would recommend the following:
• Don't wear a uniform that broadcasts exactly what city you work in.
• If you're going to watch someone bathing nude, don't enter their property and blow your own cover.
• And most important, don't leave your business card on my front door so that I can spell your full name on the complaint form I file with your department. Didn't they teach you anything in the academy?
And a note to the local PD's investigator: when interviewing a case of sexual harassment in which the suspect is one of your own, it's probably better not to tell the complainant that you grew up with the offending officer and respect him and his work with the department. I might reasonably conclude that he won't see any punishment. And when I see the offending officer two days later in a squad car drinking coffee and—I swear this is true—eating a doughnut, I'll be even more outraged.
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