Ed. Note: This is a reprise of a classic post about Mud Lick’s top cop, Sheriff Roy Templeton, following Chris Seaton’s unfortunate kiln accident which prevented him from writing a new post as well as wearing the Halloween orange and black panda costume purchased from Kmart with the bespoke codpiece.

Happy Halloween—ahh shit, that was yesterday wasn’t it? Well enjoy this spooky tale a day late-CLS

Mx. Roberta Finklestein (pronouns they/them, MA in Gender Studies, Oberlin 2010) was perplexed. For the life of them they couldn’t figure out why they’d been pulled over that day by a nice but rather imposing Latinx gentleman working for the Sheriff’s Department, cited, and told to appear at the station for questioning.

They initially thought it had something to do with their allyship work and social justice initiatives they brought with them on starting as a substitute teacher for the Eighth Grade classes at Nicholas Saban Intermediate School in Driftwood County, Alabama.

After all, this was one of those red states, and they wasn’t entirely sure there wasn’t some sort of Republican led effort to stop them from teaching students about the Gender Unicorn or assigning ethnographic work they’d based upon Ibram Kendi’s classic text “Antiracist Baby.”

The Sheriff had requested to meet with them, though, and that was troubling. After all, all cops were bastards, even if they were men of color like Mud Lick’s Sheriff. And who knew what a toxic man with a badge and a gun could want with a marginalized individual like Mx. Finklestein?

Their rapidly anxious thoughts quickened until the door to Interrogation Room I opened and Sheriff Roy Templeton, Mud Lick’s top law enforcement officer, entered. Finklestein tried to suss out the Sheriff’s internal mood, but all they got from a cursory glance was a mix of “bad cop” and “domestic terrorist parent at a school board meeting.”

“Please don’t mind getting up, um…” the Sheriff started, looking at a file folder. “How do you pronounce this, ‘Emex’?”

“Oh that’s pronounced “Mix,” Finklestein said with a touch of delight in their voice. “The term ‘Mx.’ is an appropriate way to address an adult who identifies as non-binary, such as myself.”

Finklestein perked up a little bit. Perhaps this Sheriff wasn’t a filthy Trump-kissing Republican after all.

“Do you know why you were called in here today, Mx. Finklestein?” the Sheriff began.

“I haven’t the foggiest, Sheriff,” Finklestein returned.

“Do you recall substitute teaching last week at Saban Intermediate?”

“Of course. I was assigned to Ms. Robertson’s class for the week.”

“And do you admit to showing the Warner Brothers film ‘The Batman’ to a classroom full of eighth graders during that weeklong period?”

Finklestein blinked in shock. “Um, yes. I did. That’s a PG-13 movie and the kids in the class are all of age appropriateness to watch that material. Is there some problem, Sheriff?”

“Did you pre-screen this material before introducing it to a class of impressionable children, ‘Mx.’ Finklestein?”

Roberta paused. “Well, I didn’t really give it that much thought. It was one of those super hero movies, right? How bad could it possibly be? Kids watch those all the time in theaters.”

“Mx. Finklestein, do you think allowing impressionable children to view a movie glorifying vigilante justice and taking the law into one’s own hands is age appropriate for an eighth grade education?”

Finklestein bit her tongue. She wasn’t being charged—yet—and if she just kept her mouth shut she thought she might get out of this without further incident.

“People think there’s no harm done in showing kids stuff like ‘Batman,'” the Sheriff continued. “I submit there’s nothing more dangerous to the community than allowing children to think rich white men with interesting toys will solve all crime. Elon Musk and Jeff Bezos have enough money to pull that shit off and all they do is spout off on Twitter how the other should spend his money.”

“Do you know what I could do with half the budget Bruce Wayne has, Mx. Finklestein?” Sheriff Roy asked the substitute. “I could fix a few squad cars in need of repair. I could replace some damaged body armor that saves my officers’ lives. I could even get us new Narcan dispensers so we could deal with overdose calls better. Instead you show those kids, including my Roy Junior, that a white man wearing eye makeup at night can solve all their problems with money and fists.”

“I hadn’t really thought of that, Sheriff. I’m sorry if I offended you,” Finklestein replied.

“As well you should be!” roared the Sheriff. “And the depictions of criminals in that film are totally unrealistic. Zoe Kravitz is a terrible burglar. Burglars don’t give a shit about which ‘man’ they’re sticking it to unless one in particular has a shinier object that will sell well on the black market. Paul Dano looks like a mix between a garbage bag, Doogie Howser, and a gimp suit. Hell, the only one that looks and acts realistic is Collin Farrell, and they had to put him in a fat suit to lower the acting quality!”

The room fell silent as Sheriff Roy finished his tirade. The two adults locked eyes for a moment. It was clear to Mx. Finklestein they’d crossed some sort of line. They couldn’t figure out how to squirm out of this one without causing further trouble.

“Sheriff, it’s clear that showing this movie in the classroom was out of line in your view. I’m terribly sorry for that and I’d like to take ownership of my hurtful actions. How in your eyes is the best way I can make this up to you?”

Mud Lick’s top cop thought for a moment. He then replied with, “If you’re willing to be reasonable, I’m willing to be reasonable. Hold on a moment.” He then left Interrogation 1 with no further indication why.

Twenty minutes later Sheriff Roy returned with an armful of VHS tapes in collector’s boxes. He set them down on the table of the interrogation room with a sense of pride.

“Here you go. My complete collection of the entire first two seasons of “Dragnet.” If you want the kids to watch something entertaining and educational, I suggest you get a VHS player from the school audiovisual room and try this on for size.”

“Thank you, Sheriff Templeton.” Mx. Finklestein attempted to sound grateful as she accepted the tapes, making a mental note to burn them later when she had the chance to record it for TikTok.

“My pleasure. Thank you for coming in and being a reasonable adult about this matter. Take the tapes with you and you’re free to go.”

Finklestein got up and prepared to leave. “Thank you, Sheriff. I appreciate your input on my methods and want to strive for greater transparency in teaching. Parents should always have a say in what’s taught into the classroom!”

This made them vomit just a little in their mouth to say, but that wasn’t going to be the hill on which they died in a Southern Republican Sheriff’s office. Finklestein wasn’t about to become another statistic.

“You’re welcome, and thank you for stopping by, Mx. Finklestein. By the way, I hope you don’t mind that I spoke with the principal at Saban Intermediate and changed your textbook order.”

“Do what now, Sheriff?” Finklestein asked.

“We replaced your order of “Antiracist Baby” with “Zero to One” by Peter Thiel,” Sheriff Roy said with a smirk. “Something tells me your students will get more out of that than anything else you’ve taught this year!”