During the months I was a patrol sergeant on the graveyard shift in Plano, at three one morning, I was headed up to Spring Creek Parkway where I noticed a car a half-mile ahead of me jerking from curb to curb. There were no other cars on the road that time of the morning, and I began to follow it before it pulled over in a quiet neighborhood. I stopped about 100 yards behind the vehicle, slipped silently out of the squad car, and tiptoed forward holding a powerful aluminum flashlight, still off. I pulled my gun from the holster, aimed it at the ground, and moved slowly toward the car, unnoticed by the driver.
As I neared, I could hear a low slurping sound and could see someone in the driver’s seat hunched over, his head moving slightly up and down, and a gurgling, slurping sound. At this point I became disgusted.
About five feet of the window, I shone the flashlight in his face. The driver bolted upright with total terror on his face. A huge blotch of nasty brown stuff covered his nose, mouth, and chin. I saw immediately that he was holding a large bowl of chili in both hands in front of him. He had been sucking it up hungrily from the bowl without benefit of a spoon.
“Police Officer!” I announced. “What’s going on here?” The guy, grossly overweight, burst into uncontrollable sobs. “Oh God, please don’t tell my wife, I promised her I would quit, but I just needed a bowl of chili. She’ll kill me if she finds out I broke my diet. Oh God, Officer, please don’t tell her, don’t tell.”
I stood there in total disbelief. That this poor guy would have to sneak out of the house like a thief in the night to have a bowl of chili left me speechless. I realized that the reason the car had been weaving was because he was trying to slurp his chili while he drove.
“I’ll make you a deal. I won’t tell your wife if you’ll promise me one thing. In the future, just park before you start eating. Okay?” He readily promised and launched immediately back into the chili as I turned and walked back to the squad car.