Shortyly after Philando Castille’s shooting, I was in NY visiting a friend. We went over a retired NYPD officer’s home for a dinner. He had climbed the ranks to a pretty elevated position so I wanted to get his opinion on the tension between citizens and the police. He regaled us with stories of his time with the force and being rewarded for being an honest and ethical officer. While noting there were a few bad apples in the bunch, he described the department in the same light as himself, as an honest and not being given a fair shake in public media.
I had laid my blazer on the arm of his couch and inside the breast pocket was a fairly expensive pair of sunglasses. As he spoke he put his elbow on the arm of the chair and leaned. A very audible and loud “CRACK” stopped him in the middle of his sentence. He looked up and jumped back on track continuing his story moving his arm off my blazer.
As we got up to go to the table for dinner I pulled the broken glasses out of my jacket and put them on the coffee table then joined the rest of the guests. After dinner we returned to the sitting area for more conversation, the broken glasses displayed prominently on the coffee table.
The evening came to a close and nothing had been said about the smashed glasses. I picked them up and put my jacket on, thanked the host for his hospitality, and left with my friend and the irony of the situation.