Fear of The Law & Order Moment.
Typically, men are associated with being fearless. Men are supposed to be strong, confident, heroic people; devoid of fright and able to champion through anything. During a scary movie, you want to jump in the arms of a man to protect you. When a kid thinks there's a monster under their bed, it's their father that they want to come check it out. Well, that's not true. Not one bit. Every man is afraid of something. For my former military, tattooed from neck to knee roommate, it was mice. You don't know how hilarious it is to watch a man who did multiple tours in a war torn country jump and scream at the sight of a mouse. For some men it's monsters, the dark, failure, or the opposite sex; whatever. But all men fear one thing, The Law & Order Moment. That moment when you're at work, and Detectives Briscoe and Green walk in and ask you to come with them. They ask you about the woman you met the night before. That's when they tell you something horrible happened to her and you were the last to be seen with her. Talk about scary. A few years ago back in Baltimore, I was coming home from one of my nightclub broadcasts I did for HOT 99.5 in D.C. As I pulled up to my apartment, I was greeted to a young, scantily dressed, lady sitting on the ground, barefoot and bleeding in front of my apartment. She had a fun night out drinking with her besties, got separated, then decided to walk home, barefoot... through Baltimore City... alone... she had stepped on a piece of glass in front of my place and sat there, with a dead cell phone battery, like a lame deer bleeding (I should avoid the word "dead" in this story, it sounds falsely foreshadowing.) So, being the nice guy I am, I offered to give her a ride home since she didn't live far from me. I was hoping she'd be pleased with just using my cell phone to call a cab and get her home, but instead she chose to let me drive her. SON OF A BITCH! This is what happens when you pretend to be nice. You end up having to actually be nice. The last thing in the world I want to do is let some bleeding tart in my car to get her home at four-in-the-morning, but I do it anyway, I can't just leave her there... because if something were to happen she's right below my window and that noise would keep me up all night. I gave her a bottle a water and some napkins to clean herself up with, so she wouldn't bleed on my floor mats, making them Prosecution's Exhibit A. Obviously, she didn't care about that and chugged the bottle of water. As I'm driving her home, this is where I can't help but make things more awkward than they already are. As she goes to roll down the car window I say,
"No, don't do that! Someone might hear you scream for help."
Luckily, she laughs, knowing it was a joke. It could have gone much worse, like in that episode of Legit with Jim Jefferies. I got her home, made sure she got in her house, then drove home, and went to bed. The next morning The Law & Order Moment fear happened. Luckily nothing had happened to her, as far as I know. Police weren't knocking on my door asking my whereabouts the night before and if they can see the inside of my car.
"I swear officer, she was already bleeding BEFORE she got in my car."
I had another one of these moments Saturday night. I went out to Laugh Boston to hang out with some other local comedians and have a late night beverage. When I left, I decided to stop off at a 7-11 for a sandwich, because it's the ONLY place open at 2 am in Boston (seriously, this town has such a serious lack of late-night food places it's disturbing). Well, it's supposed to be the only place open, but it wasn't. So, in a moment of frustration, I yelled,
"Are you fucking kidding me?! Not even the goddamn 7-11's are open twenty-four hours in this town?!"
As I said this, I looked over and there was a young, professionally dressed business woman standing on the street corner; staring at me in confusion. I apologized for my language and explained my frustration. From here on out, let's call this woman Julia. (Actually she might have said what her name is, but I'm so bad with names, there is no chance I would remember what it was.) Julia explains that she can relate to my frustration because she's from New York, where everything is open all the time. (I think there was a song that said something like that.) She was standing there waiting for an Uber (that's the yuppie word for "Expensive Taxi") and we had some delightful conversation while she waited. I've grown since the last time I was in a situation like this, I didn't crack any awkward jokes like before. I was polite, conversational, it was truly delightful. Who am I kidding; my foot went directly into my mouth when she received a phone call from her boss while we were waiting,
"*ring, ring* Julia: Hold on, it's my boss. Hello, yes... <work stuff, work stuff> No, my Uber canceled so I'm waiting for a new one... no I'm here with some guy... Me: I know where this conversation is going, I understand, tell her my name is Dennis. Julia: *laughs* Yes, his name is Dennis... he's from Baltimore... Me: NO! NO! NO! That's not helpful. Don't tell her that."
Afterwards we laughed, talked a little more, her ride pulled up, and she leaves. No big deal. As I was leaving to hop on the subway, The Law & Order Moment fear come swooping over me. I prayed nothing happened to her on her way to her hotel room. I tried reassuring myself she would be alright, it's not like the Uber driver would take advantage of her, because as we all know, they're so concerned with your safety. But, if something were to happen to her, not only could I have been the last person to see her alive, but now other people knew some guy from Baltimore (let's be honest, Baltimoreans don't have the best track record with the rest of the country) named "Dennis" was the last person with her. Trust me, anyone in Boston who knows me and sees on the late-night news, "a man from Baltimore named Dennis is wanted for questioning" is going to be calling the news station with such haste that Siri will yell, "HOLD A DAMN SECOND AND LET ME DIAL!!" That takes it from Briscoe and Green questioning me to flat out accusations. Which is when Jack McCoy and ADA Southerlyn come in to play. It's almost as if the world wants me to a killer, because it keeps throwing innocent, trusting, prey; ripe for the picking, in my path. But, what keeps me from being that sociopath, besides the fact that I'm not one, is The Law & Order Moment. Now you may be thinking
"Dennis, if you didn't do anything wrong, then you have nothing to worry about."
True. But also who wants to go through that ordeal? I'm pretty sure my sick-time doesn't include taking off to prove I didn't rape and murder someone. That's a stigma people won't let you live down. Even if I'm proven innocent, I won't be known as the guy who was wrongly accused, but as the guy who got away with murder and rape. I don't need that. I get myself into enough trouble with the dumb things I'm willing to say and do, I don't need help from anyone else. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is a fear that every man has. And if he doesn't fear The Law & Order Moment, he's probably thought too much about preventing it, and I believe, in a court of law, that's called "premeditated."