BOLO

A more than minor fascination with TV shows of all kinds when I was a kid had me trying to figure out all the things I didn’t understand. Now this is preinternet so if someone I knew didn’t have answers I had to make my way to the library. Yes young people this used to be a much bigger thing. But, unlike people I know who lean back into nostalgia as the best of times… as far as information goes, it was an enormous pain in the nuts to figure obscure shit out. The first one I remember clearly was BOLO. Cop shows used this term like everyone understood their jargon but no matter who I asked I couldn’t get an answer other than a guess. And once someone tells me they are guessing my internal bullshit detector goes off.

So I had to hop my husky (this was an acceptable alternative form of fat and an actual size distinction at both Sears and JC Penny. but per usual I digress) ass on to my bike and pedal to the local seat of knowledge. My closest friend at the age of 12 wanted nothing to do with my nonsense as he cared little for my curiosity and with his undiagnosed dyslexia and a side order of hyperactivity the library was his worst nightmare.

A couple hours later after reading through a book on police 10-codes and other terminology I had my answer. It was Be On the Look Out. I was more than a little bothered that they chose to omit the t from their little shortening but I guess “send out a BOTLO” didn’t sound as cool.

Back to my best friend and in his defense; I tended to get real irritating once I knew something bothered him but that was kind of the basis of our friendship and parts of it joyfully continue to this day. I think it was the second time I said BOLO in his presence he not-so-politely mentioned how annoying it was. I do so love an exposed irritant so I proceeded to use it inappropriately and often.

If he was going to get something to drink and asked me if I wanted something “BOLO KoolAid” If he wondered aloud what I had in my lunch “BOLO PB&J, Chips, and a stupid apple that I will most likely throw at someone” you get the gist. It was around this time in our lives where fighting became a thing. To be completely accurate it was the two of us getting beat up for doing something stupid like hitting the wrong guy with a flying apple in the lunch room or running our similar smart ass mouths.

We walked out to the bus stop which was a source of terror for our seventh grade selves due to the aforementioned questionable behavior. His older brother and friends were already at the stop and looking for a little fun before the school transport showed up. I don’t remember the exact sequence but words were exchanged, which led to an escalation to shoving (I didn’t really hit a significant growth spurt until the following summer) which prompted me to throw out a BOLO (lets for the sake of current times editing call it an abbreviation of homogenized) aimed at the biggest one that just put me in a bush.

I heard my buddy groan which made me laugh because I was annoying him in the middle of trouble resulting in a full swing punch to my gut. I was down but my badger of a friend was not having it. He charged and mounted my assailant punching him as hard and as fast as he could. So immediate and violent was the attack that none of the remaining 8th graders could do anything but stare. The kid ended up running back to his house just before the bus crested the hill to pick us up and he didn’t go to school that day because we were both watching for him like mice who had plucked a whisker out of a cat.

That was the day we decided that walking might be our best option. It took our young legs almost an hour to walk the two miles but other troubles cause the practice to continue from Fall to Spring. The memory that triggered this post was walking one freezing dark morning in winter and my friend turning to me out of the blue and mumbled through chattering teeth “BOLO ASSHOLE”

That’s some 7th grade life lesson right there. BOLO ASSHOLE.