Alice racks her brain trying to think of any possible reason the cops would call her. She has been so broke lately she’s considered robbing a bank and is now afraid that they have developed a new mind reading technology designed to get criminals before they strike
PartyGirl: “Apparently we’re being subpoenaed”
Turns out I’m not going to jail after all, which is good because I’m pretty sure orange is not my color; it makes my skin look all pale and blotchy.
Here’s the story – wait, am I allowed to tell this or because there’s an ongoing case is it illegal for me to talk about? Screw it, I’m telling it anyway.
One night PartyGirl and I were driving home after a party at our friends house. We were stopped at a light and all of sudden there’s a jolt, crash – and we’re hit from behind. The guy in the SUV behind us signalled for us to pull over (it’s a pretty major intersection) so we pulled off into this parking lot behind a building.
The guy gets out of his car and literally straggered over. PartyGirl cracked her window and asked him for his registration. The guy is acting all weird and confused. He was bald, short and pudgy and very Spanish looking. He was wearing a yellow jacket but no shirt underneath. We kept looking at each other like “seriously, is this guy for real?”
He pulls out a bag of cocaine and tries to give it to us while slurring and asking what we want from him. I think he thought we had pulled over to do a drug deal.
Ya, actually, we just want your registration info dude.
So I proceed to call the police. The guy started asking PartyGirl who I was talking to, she told him it was her dad on the line. Well apparently he didn’t believe her because he took off running. He left his car in the parking lot and just ran.
When the cops showed up (three cars – it must have been a slow night) they first searched his car (found nothing there) and had us fill out reports. One of the cops knew PartyGirl from a class they’d both taken in college so we were all just kind of joking around about that while the cops made fun of how terrible my writing is (it looks like a boys writing, really).
Since we’d already described him to the cops, suddenly one of them was like: “wait…is that him??” This moron came back, strolling by super casually. Yes, the idiot who ran into us.
The cops chased him down and tackled him to the ground. After they carted him away we headed home. This happened months ago, I’d completely forgotten about it but apparently I have to go to court and tell my version of what happened.
Know what I’m actually kind of excited about? I get to wear a power suit and killer heels.