Aw, 'T - the pigs got you down again?
A few nights ago I was a superhero. Last night, I was wanted by the po-lice (Ice-T voice).
Why? Beats me. I was living in my parents’ house, but it was only myself and one of my roommates from grad school (I think – her presence was only acknowledged, never seen). We’re going about our daily lives when suddenly I hear a car door slam across the street. I peer out the window to see two uniformed officers exiting a po-lice vehicle and two plainclothes officers exiting a big-ass SUV.
I wish I could remember the backstory here, but as soon as I saw the officers I immediately started freaking out and hid under my bed (which was a gigantic, cavernous hiding place filled with tons of junk. I think I actually might have been able to hide while sitting up, too. Apparently I slept on a massive elevated platform). Seems I had Done Something or Had Something to warrant their presence (ha ha, get it? Warrant their presence?). Uh, moving on.
Aaaanyway, the Reasons for which the police arrived revolved around myself – my roommate was not any kind of Suspect even though I yelled something like “I’m not here!” when I saw the po-lice and dove under the bed.
Roommate lets the officers in, and they promptly begin an incredibly thorough search of the entire house. I’m sitting there, under my Big Bed, waiting for them to leave – it doesn’t look like they’ll be searching my room so I’m about to let my guard down when suuuuddenly – I see Police Feet. They’re here!
I am overwhelmed with the feeling that I. Am. Fucked. I consider just giving myself up when one of them bends down to peer under the bed. Oh, hai guyz.
But no, really, when I see that cop I am PISSED. Completely and totally (and unreasonably, because I know I’ve done wrong) IRATE. I am instantly uncooperative and bitchy, knowing in the back of my head that this is not helping my case, but any desire I’ve ever had to be nice is completely out the window. Stupid po-lice (Ice-T voice again).
Bottlecaps. All over the damn place.
So I get out from under the bed, and there’s absolutely nothing I can do while they are tearing apart my room. What a feeling. Oh, and in walks one of the guys I work with (in Real Life). He’s some kind of Evidence Collector (wtf?) and he’s going around my room wearing gloves and carrying evidence bags. For some reason, the only thing he is bagging are bottle caps. And for some other reason, my room is filled with them. He keeps giving me this tsk tsk look each time he finds another bottle cap and puts it in the bag.
My room is an absolute wreck to start, but the cops are trashing it even more. And they’re going through really weird stuff – like art projects from when I was in kindergarten – even though it has nothing to do with the crime I’ve committed. I start grabbing stuff out of their hands: “Don’t touch that!” This, for some reason, does not please the po-lice and Guy From Work just keeps collecting bottle caps and tsk tsking.
Then my alarm went off.
No more Advil PM before bed.
the sloppy copy 