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Alpha Male at the wheel. As always. Control factor number one.
Car mounts the kerb and slams to a stop. Door opens. Time freezes or perhaps an intentional dramatic effect setting the scene.
Slowly getting out.
Funsize characteristics. Legs dangling before they reach the ground. Like a child escaping a high chair. Unrestrained.
She appears. Controlled. The Alpha Male.
Interrogation Round 2.
My mate was facing a contentious trespassing charge. He'd taken a photo of an ex-government public facility. The gate was open. He stepped through. Just a little.
Wham, bam... she was ready to slam!
Same thing could happen to a charity collector or Morman. She reckons. All they had to do, was walk past the mailbox and the owner could press trespassing charges.
Selective policing?
In this case, it was an open gate. No signs.
We didn't buy it. Seemingly as dubious as her personality. Not withstanding she was void of one, other than the traits of a bulldog. A nickname unfortunately bestowed upon her some weeks ago (at the innocence of the canine variety) when she found some sort of fame on YouTube from her previous dramatic incident.
It was all about tension and control.
My mate attempts to argue his defence. She wasn't buying it. Perhaps The Bulldog was inexperienced at being challenged on a concept she personally over-developed. An extension of the black and white codified legislation, due to her elastic personal interpretation. Her colleague, obviously, accepting it as truth. There was no point in him putting his balls on the chopping block. She thrived on dominance. That certainly wasn't being challenged!
The Bulldog produces a printed photo. Not entirely flattering but certainly one short of sneaky. Come to think of it, my mate looks like he's actually standing by the road in front of the fence, rather than just inside but it was all The Bulldog had. She wasn't going to let anyone weaken her scanty evidence.
My mate asks for a copy of the photo. She says no.
He wants to take a photo of it. She says no.
She turns to scribble her signature on the bottom of the piece of paper. He takes a photo of it over her shoulder.
The Bulldog wasn't touching a door but she was ready to fly off the handle.
Tuck shop arms start flying around like aimless karate chops, out of sync with her aggressive tirade. "Don't go into my personal space again!"
It wasn't adding up. The Bulldog was obviously trying to prove something. No one was questioning she had a set of balls. That was clear in Round 1 and no judgments were made. Besides, gender identity had nothing to do with the 'inquiry' she was making.
She charges him with trespassing. "You could face a jail term of between 12 months and seven years," The Bulldog sternly says.
Meanwhile, burglars and violent thugs seemingly get a slap on the wrist.
Go figure!