It is time to come clean:
I am an outlaw. The other night I narrowly escaped an arrest! Whoooooo eeeeeee! It was a close one!
* * *
It was early evening on a weeknight and I had to go to the gym. I knew I would want a daquiri of some sort later that night, but I also knew that ABC would be closed by the time I got home from pumping iron- eh. May as well pick up the vodka on the way. While inside the booze store, I accidentally knocked over a display of Cruzan Rum- eh. I did not think much of it, the same thing happened once at Wal Mart with a display of KY Jelly!
(but it very definitely caused me to SMELL like alcohol!)
I bought the [cheap, cheap, very cheap] brand of vodka, got on my bike and started pedaling off into the future. Unfortunately I hit a discarded cigarette lighter and flew a foot in the air! Luckily I landed okay, but something had happened to my bike- it started vibrating and making a weird noise! So I started cracking up. Of COURSE, right? But whatever.
I was still laughing as I approached the crosswalk, almost doubling over at my rotten luck. Figures. As I pressed the button, I noticed (in an indirect, roundabout way) a man on a motorcycle pull up and pause at the red light. Next to him, this big old cop jeep pulled up and sat quietly, like a paperweight. I was still laughing at my luck and hardly noticed.
As the “WALK!” light came on, I walked (rather than rode) my bike across the street! But the outlaw looking man on that bike was doing at least ninety, so I hopped on the bike and jumped onto the sidewalk, if only to save my life from the barreling monster! He passed by and I was safe . . . until the POLICE JEEP drove by!
But he didn’t want the speed demon.
Next I knew, sirens were blaring and lights were flashing! And I was being pulled over! On a BICYCLE!
(and it wasn’t even the first time!)
“Excuse me, ma’am?”
I only had the back light on my bike, as the front one had run out of batteries, so I thought that was why this oily bohunk was ruining my night. But no. The cop definitely thought I was drunk. And underage.
“Have you ever been arrested?”
“Once,” I said, still not catching on. “It was nothing, just one of those things where you DON’T REALLY REALIZE you’re eighteen yet.” Then I sighed.
“Oh. So you’re a trouble maker?”
“Um. What do you mean, Mister?”
“Address me as ‘Sir’, missy. Do your parents know you’re out, buying liquor at this hour? How did you get that bottle? Friends in LOW places?” He eyed my ABC bag and took a big whiff of the rum I had spilled.
I sighed and decided I really needed to stop wearing pigtails. It’s always the pigtails.
“Sir, I am not drunk, I was getting this for later. I just walked in and bought it, it was that easy. I have been of age awhile now, Sir. I don’t know what’s wrong with the bike though, Sir. It happened five minutes ago. Sir.”
Sir. Sir. Sir.
“It isn’t legal to ride a bike on the sidewalk! You could run over pedestrians! That biker almost hit you!”
“Sir! That maniac is why I’m on the sidewalk! He was speeding, not ME! SIR!”
“You’re drunk, aren’t you? You smell like a brewery. Get on the bike and do three laps around the cop car!”
This was really happening.
I did so, my bike shaking like a bad carnival ride the whole time. There was *obviously* something wrong with it and not me. So at this point he realized that I was PROBABLY telling the truth. I came back around and handed him my ID.
“OH! Birth date ’84! Let me have the boys down at the station run this through, then if all this comes back clear, you’re free to go! I’ve got my eye on you though!” I felt relieved until he spat out, “Your license has been suspended since 2010!”
“Do I need a license to ride a BICYCLE, sir?” I sighed and thrust my wrists up at him. “Go ahead and cuff me, Krupke! Let’s get this over with so I can get to the gym and-”
“No more of your lip, Sloan!” he interjected harshly. Then he shuffled. “You are free to go, BUT YOU NEED TO BE MORE CAREFUL! I don’t want you splattered all over this road! That kind of cleanup costs the city a lot of money.”
Well, I’ll be damned.
What a nice fellow!
“Okay, okay. Bye, Officer Friendly! SIR!”
* * *
After that I went to Winn Dixie to get mustard, coffee creamer, Kraft Deli Deluxe and three hundred dollars in cash. Winn Dixie only lets you take out one hundred at a time though, which made me a little angry. I realize now it probably has to do with the amount of money kept in the registers, but at the time, it did not seem reasonable.
“I can only take out ONE hundred at a time? Well, it’s MY money and I need three hundred. One hundred will not help me.”
“I cannot help you then. You can only take out a max of one hundred per transaction. I am not a bank.”
“I KNOW, the bank charges two dollars to use their ATM! There are three items here. How about we do a separate transaction for each item and then you can let me take out a hundred each time?”
“Okay. But to be fair to the other guests, you’re going to have to go to the end of the line in between each item. And wait.”
Now she was just being a pill.
It was not worth it. I took my five measly twenties and continued on my way to the gym. Surprisingly nothing weird happened while I was working out, except I did not have a lock for the locker and someone stole the my money. At this point, all I could feel was gratitude towards that bitchy cashier who only let me take out five twenties instead of fifteen.
The witch saved me two hundred dollars. TEN twenties!
But then it hit me:
There had been a crime! At the gym!
I then realized that if cops weren’t so busy chasing after people on broken bikes, things like THIS could be prevented! It was terrible! The gym is supposed to be a sanctuary! A safe haven where you can go to run away from your problems and lift all your sorrows away!
THE GYM WAS ALMOST HOLY!
And I’ll be damned.
Where was Officer Krupke now?
(End of Part 1. There was only supposed to be ONE part, but I’m really tired. Sorry.)