Conduct?

I had to go to pick up my police conduct certificate today, and I wasn't too keen on it either. Have been postponing it for weeks. Because, quite frankly, I don't like cops. They're nothing more special than me and you, anzi, we're even more special. But they get a hideous blue uniform which does nothing for the female cops' widening hips, a badge, and a hideous hat to go with it. Suddenly a Jack in the street is transformed into an authoritarian. Just like that. And they are supposed to help other citizens. Yeah right. Try talking them into letting you park somewhere. Try asking them something else. They expect you to call them, Sir. Sir? Have they been knighted or what? Knighted for their greasy faces because their hats do not allow their skin to breathe? Oh no, that's not what I call a cop for. So anyway had to walk into this building where I saw cops strutting like peacocks (as if I don't get my very own peacock strutting every day), kept silent and asked for my police conduct certificate. Female cop looked at me as if I had gone mad. She said, 'il-kondotta mrs?', To which I would have liked to reply, no, I want a slip of paper to prove my good conduct and not just a conduct, and no I'm not a Mrs, but I nodded instead. I had to go through three harrowing minutes of waiting and my mind just went everywhere. What if past and buried affairs would show up and come to haunt me? What if all the bad things a good girl shouldn't do would suddenly appear on the monitor? Two, thirty-three, was all she said. Not bad, for having a piece of paper say, 'This person is of good conduct.' Yey yey yey nothing so nothing showed up on the monitor. I have a certificate which is my pride and joy and shows that I am good. And I think I'd better frame it for safety keeping too. Just in case someone calls me a bad girl again.