If TV Was Reality: What it would be like if we lived like they do

The alarm woke me at 6:32. The start of another uneventful day at the office. Or so I thought. Today was to prove different, my life had suddenly been taken over by a T.V. screenplay writer.
It all started with the email I received the previous night. I thought it was a joke, how wrong I was.
“Your life is boring and really quite a disgrace. Because of this we have decided to assign your a screenplay writer named Todd.”
I showered and shaved in 30 seconds flat. On my bed a fresh ironed shirt and pants were neatly laid out. I stole a glimpse of the Statue of Liberty from my bedroom window, before going downstairs. I wasn’t at all surprised to find my wife already in the kitchen serving piles of fresh pancakes. On the table was a glass of orange juice, freshly brewed coffee,  three fried eggs and a hot toasted bagel.
As usual I was in a hurry and didn’t have time to join her for breakfast. “Sorry Babe, have to rush to the office.” Where I was rushing to was a mystery to me at 7:00 A.M. What a waste. I jumped into my spotless convertible, always amazed at how clean it was considering I never have time to wash it. Maybe in was the rain. The drive to work was a breeze, only three cars  burst into flames, none of them causing any congestion. I pulled up outside the Police Department. There was a free parking space waiting for me right by the entrance. Taking the elevator up, I pondered how it was that I worked for the police, when I had been trained to be a computer programmer.
The chief was waiting for me and he didn’t look happy. Chief White, of course, had grown up in Harlem, but then again hadn’t they all. In all my time in service I had yet to see a police chief who was white or Jewish or even Irish.
“Thank you for favoring us with your presence Taite.” It was only 8:15 so I didn’t take his comment very well.
“What am I suspended for this week Chief?”
“Taite, don’t get smart assed with me, you have 48 hours to clean up the streets, put all the pushers behind bars and bring in the Russian Mafia, or your job will be on the line.”
“Why 48 hours? Where is it written in the police academy code that everything has to be wrapped up in 48 hours?”
“I don’t really know Taite, but the networks have already patented 24 so this is what we’re left with. Since, as usual, your last partner is currently indisposed and six feet under, I’m setting you up with a new rookie from Jersey, goes by the name of Henry.”
“What kind of a name is Henry for a policeman, the dogs will eat him alive before the day’s out.”
“Henry is short for Henrietta, and she’s standing right behind you idot, so you don’t need to shout.”
Henry proved to be a tall brunette in her late twenties who wore her uniform like a Fashion TV model though she was having trouble dealing with the Battle of the Bulge. Her father, Angus, had been a cop for almost twenty five years before being shot down by a mobster named Bitsy. Though she would never admit it, Henry was in it for revenge.
Having only 48 hours to wrap up the case, we went straight for the action and headed for the place where most police leads came from. The Kit Kat Club was run by a sleazy Chinaman named Wong Tong Wrong. Henry caused quite a sensation as she entered, strippers dressed as policeman were all the rage now. Achieving nothing there but a free peek, we headed out again and cased the Upper Side of Lower Harlem for clues. Stopping for a quick donut and coffee we suddenly found ourselves under fire. Luckily, the St. Patrick’s Day parade coming in our direction allowed for adequate cover and hiding amongst the paraders we shot back at the source of the  gunfire. No one commented to the fact that it was the middle of August. Henry turned out to be a sharpshooter, she managed to fire at least sixty shots , though I couldn’t fathom where she was hiding her ammunition. She did, however, badly bruise her knee and ruin her pantyhose so we had to go back to her apartment for her to change. Henry lived in a midtown loft that judging from its fixtures must have once belonged to Donald Trump. I wondered how she managed to maintan such a pad on a cop’s salary. Maybe she had a rich aunt. The mandatory grown cat named Tiddles growled at me the whole time. After another couple of hours driving around the suburb with no apparant goal we called it a day.
   I was sound asleep when the phone rang.
“Steve, are you asleep?” It was 2 A.M. Of course I was asleep.
“Ah no, Henry, what put that idea in your head?” My wife stirred.
“Steve, who’s that on the phone?”
“It’s my partner Henry.”
“Oh. Silly name for a cop” and she fell back to sleep.
“Steve, I think there’s a prowler in my apartment. Can you come over?”
I jumped out of bed,put on my Indiana Jones smile and drove across town. Luckily I had a spare set of clothes in the car because my Superman pajamas weren’t the ideal thing to accost a prowler in.
Henry opened the door at the first ring. She poured me a glass of red wine.
“I’m not usually like this, but I’ve been receiving a lot of obscene phone calls recently.” She was wearing pink baby dolls and it was getting really hard to think of her as a cop named Henry.
“Don’t worry Hen, I know the best trick for revealing a prowler. Just do as I say letter by letter.” I had the situation fully under control.
“Go and run a  bath.” 
“But I just showered”
“Trust me”
My experience payed off big time. The moment she had finished filling the bath the prowler revealed himself from behind her, holding a sharp knife. Henry screamed which was my cue.  I had him down on the floor in a Half-Nelson in seconds. (Did I mention that I was a wrestler in my youth?)
“Aha, Mr. Gordialino in person. I can see you have been hiding behind the ventilation shaft. Pretty clever.”
“But I don’t have a venteaton shaft”,  interrupted Henry.
“Of course you do, it goes without saying.”
“Wow, your good Steve, I must talk this over with my janitor.
“Meanwhile I need to escort this piece of trash down to the station.”
“Don’t you have to inform him of his rights first?”
“Usually yes, but Mr. Gordialino here is left handed.”

And so passed yet another uneventful 48 hours.