I saw this lady in the cafeteria lunch line at work today. I don’t know her, she works in a different part of the building, but I see her now and then. With her, in full uniform, was a police officer. I got the impression that they were married, or at least were involved in a serious long-term relationship. He was there, probably on his lunch break, to eat with her. Everything was perfectly harmless, completely rational, and entirely in order.

I had just finished my lunch, had slipped the comic book magazine I was reading back into my black canvas book bag, and was on my way over to the trash cans to wrap up my lunch business when I spotted them. They chatted happily, she was sprinkling graded Parmesan cheese on her pizza, and he was sorting methodically through the various flavors of yogurt available in the refrigerated cooler. My eyes darted down to the officer’s utility belt, and I looked at all the gadgets that hung there. He seemed so relaxed in his outfit, no more conspicuous than a janitor in coveralls, and I thought how, for me, it would be like wearing a Halloween costume every day of the year. I had no idea how he could go around dressed like that, armed, and be so completely casual about it. I looked over his shiny steel handcuffs in their safe little pouch, and tried not to stare at the loaded regulation pistol snapped into its holster, ready for easy and convenient retrieval.

Paranoia settled in. I felt my throat dry out and my pulse quicken. Why is it that I feel guilty every time I see a police officer, even though I know I’m not doing any thing wrong? I worried that I might accidentally break some law while in his presence, and that he would unsnap the little leather clasp on his holster, draw his pistol with one hand and slam me up against the refrigerated cooler with the other. He would handcuff me and lead me out of the building, and I would try to cover my head with a jacket so that no one could see who I was. I would probably cry, or pee my pants as he led me out of the building and crammed me into the back of his squad car. I thought about the fact that he could shoot me if he could make up a good enough reason to, pictured him explaining it to his sergeant, then put my tray on the rack, my empty water glass next to all the others, and made my way out of the cafeteria.