So yesterday I was watching the original Police Academy movie on Comedy Central. Even though it was edited for television, I got a few cheap laughs out of it. Or maybe I was just nostalgic for fifth grade, when I made my parents rent every installment for me. I�m kind of surprised they relented, considering how off the off-color humor was. (Not that I got many of the jokes back then�what was that lady doing to that guy under the podium?) And the sequels were about as derivative as sequels get�they didn�t even bother to come up with new jokes: they trick someone into going into a gay bar, the little soft-spoken cadet finds her voice at the end and hollers at the bad guy, the sound-effects guy makes sound-effects. And, thanks to the Internet Movie Database, I�m learning things about the film that I never knew: for example, did you know the movie was released in the UK with the title Police Academy: What An Institution! I even made my dad take me to see the fifth (or maybe it was the sixth?) installment in the theatre. (My father suffered through a number of bad movies for his children�s sake: The Abyss, Look Who�s Talking, Honey! I Shrunk The Kids, etc.) But the first Police Academy was decent, I guess, as Eighties comedies go. And in the rousing finale, those goofball cadets have to put their training to the test when a big riot breaks out downtown! Wow!!! Plus, I noticed things about it I missed before: like Kim Cattrall as the token �hot� cadet, and the bad guy at the end wearing a Vassar t-shirt. Plus, I noticed today that the young Steve Guttenberg bears a bit of a resemblance to Win Rosenfeld.

Now you know what I do with my days off.

Here are two contrasting scenarios:

1) The other night at work guy about my age, stockier, but smart-looking and tough-looking, cut in line to ask where the autobiographies are. I pointed to the Biography section, not five feet from where he was standing. Later, when I rang him up, he didn�t say anything (maybe his pride had been wounded when he couldn't find the autobiographies by himself). He just handed me the exact amount in cash and began to walk away without a word, with that inexplicable haughtiness people get when they pay with exact change. I asked him if he wanted his receipt, and he just shook his head and grunted without turning around. Something in me snapped�something that wanted to destroy every person who�s ever decided to dispense with the most rudimentary manners, who don�t feel the need to treat people behind cash registers like human beings�and I called after him, with more than a little bitterness in my voice, and loud enough for everyone in the front of the store to hear, �You�re welcome.�

2) I stopped into Hy-Vee on the way home to get a much-needed six-pack. The woman at the register was the sweetest Hy-Vee cashier I�ve ever encountered (and there have been a lot of them). She apologized for checking my ID (why? I�m happy to get carded these days; it makes me feel young) and then said, �Merry Christmas, if I don�t see you before then.�

And how much energy do you think it took that woman to be nice to me, versus the effort expended on the part of Mr Fucky Exactchange?

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