ToddG
10-23-2012, 01:06 PM
This story is not true and until I'm sure the statute of limitations on any possible charges have lapsed it will continue being untrue...
Also, some language in this story is NSFW.
In late 2003, I had a very angry exchange with then-General Manager Steve Parsick of Beretta USA. Unable to come to a happy negotiated compromise, I told Parsick to fuck himself with a sharp stick and immediately followed it up with, "And I quit!" Literally everyone in the office area at BUSA heard me. I marched out of Parsick's office and only stopped to go through the metal detector before getting in my car to drive home.
Beretta USA's main US location is just off a very long, straight, and mostly flat highway in Maryland known as "210." Most of the road is two lanes in each direction with a median down the middle. Speed limit is 45mph.
If this story were true, I would have been driving along at about 80mph, ticked off and thinking little about my driving except insofar as I didn't want to crash into anything. A few miles along the trip, there was a car in the fast lane blocking my path. I flashed my headlights but he didn't move. As I got closer, I flashed them again and honked the horn. Still no movement. So, in a fit of anger, I crushed the accelerator (or rather, would have if this story were true) and swerved into the slow lane to pass him.
Then he pulled in behind me, and the big lights on top of his car lit up. Yes folks, I had just passed a MARKED police car... at 105mph... in a 45mph zone. (if the story were true)
So this officer gets out and approaches my car. He must already think I'm high as a kite, insane, or both. So what are the first words he hears from me?
"I know I'm in trouble and this isn't going to help... but I've got a carry permit and there's a fanny pack at my feet with a loaded pistol in it."
The officer -- I later realized he was a sergeant -- asks for my permit and license. He goes to his cruiser, runs my numbers, and comes back. He hands me back all my cards and then asks, in a truly stupefied voice, "Did you not see my marked police car?"
So I just told him the truth: I'd just had a huge fight with the General Manager of Beretta, even told him to go fuck himself with a sharp stick, then stormed out and drove home in a blind rage. I reiterated that I knew I was in trouble and that I was just waiting for him to tell me what came next.
Sergeant: "You just told the General Manager at Beretta to go fuck himself with a sharp stick?"
Me: "Yes."
Sergeant: <disbelieving look>
Me: "If you call the main switchboard at Beretta, I promise you that even the receptionist heard it from the other side of the office. I was pretty mad."
The sergeant looks skyward for a moment, thinking. The next words took me by such surprise that I'm lucky I didn't piss myself. "I fuckin' HATE my Beretta!" To which, of course, I offered no end of sympathy.
The sergeant told me to keep the car off and count to 100 before driving home. Then he walked back to his car and drove away.
Allegedly.
Also, some language in this story is NSFW.
In late 2003, I had a very angry exchange with then-General Manager Steve Parsick of Beretta USA. Unable to come to a happy negotiated compromise, I told Parsick to fuck himself with a sharp stick and immediately followed it up with, "And I quit!" Literally everyone in the office area at BUSA heard me. I marched out of Parsick's office and only stopped to go through the metal detector before getting in my car to drive home.
Beretta USA's main US location is just off a very long, straight, and mostly flat highway in Maryland known as "210." Most of the road is two lanes in each direction with a median down the middle. Speed limit is 45mph.
If this story were true, I would have been driving along at about 80mph, ticked off and thinking little about my driving except insofar as I didn't want to crash into anything. A few miles along the trip, there was a car in the fast lane blocking my path. I flashed my headlights but he didn't move. As I got closer, I flashed them again and honked the horn. Still no movement. So, in a fit of anger, I crushed the accelerator (or rather, would have if this story were true) and swerved into the slow lane to pass him.
Then he pulled in behind me, and the big lights on top of his car lit up. Yes folks, I had just passed a MARKED police car... at 105mph... in a 45mph zone. (if the story were true)
So this officer gets out and approaches my car. He must already think I'm high as a kite, insane, or both. So what are the first words he hears from me?
"I know I'm in trouble and this isn't going to help... but I've got a carry permit and there's a fanny pack at my feet with a loaded pistol in it."
The officer -- I later realized he was a sergeant -- asks for my permit and license. He goes to his cruiser, runs my numbers, and comes back. He hands me back all my cards and then asks, in a truly stupefied voice, "Did you not see my marked police car?"
So I just told him the truth: I'd just had a huge fight with the General Manager of Beretta, even told him to go fuck himself with a sharp stick, then stormed out and drove home in a blind rage. I reiterated that I knew I was in trouble and that I was just waiting for him to tell me what came next.
Sergeant: "You just told the General Manager at Beretta to go fuck himself with a sharp stick?"
Me: "Yes."
Sergeant: <disbelieving look>
Me: "If you call the main switchboard at Beretta, I promise you that even the receptionist heard it from the other side of the office. I was pretty mad."
The sergeant looks skyward for a moment, thinking. The next words took me by such surprise that I'm lucky I didn't piss myself. "I fuckin' HATE my Beretta!" To which, of course, I offered no end of sympathy.
The sergeant told me to keep the car off and count to 100 before driving home. Then he walked back to his car and drove away.
Allegedly.