I needed to drive my car somewhere to do something. Except I could not find my car. It was not where I had left it up which was parked out front of my house. It was gone. I moseyed down the street. I took longer walks around even farther blocks pressing the panic button on my keychain. I came home in a state of shock. I’ve never had a car stolen before. I wasn’t sure who to call. So I called my friend who is a psychic and he said call the police and call the insurance people. Which was a tiny hiccup because I despise the police and have frequently written heated diatribes about my loathing of them.
I am neither black nor prone to wearing hoodies and yet, in my experience, almost every interaction with the police in Florida and some of the rest of the country has been negative. Therefore, on principle, I hate them.
In a moment of hypocritical weakness I phoned and asked for help. In less than five minutes three young tanned healthy police people in tight shorts and smiles and riding bicycles arrived and asked me to exit my house. I thought they should be coming in and we would be filling out reports. But they motioned to me to come out and I thought I better do what they say. So I walked down the little path that leads to the street and there was my car.
I was jubilant. I was so impressed. I asked, ‘How did you do that?’
One policeman asked me, with a broad grin, ‘Did you have a big night last night?’
The three law officers smirked at me as if I had passed some college initiation ritual.
My options were to confess, ‘No! I’m a teetotaler I’m just a straight up idiot.’
It might be a crime to lie to the police but I had to put my ego first and I said, ‘Yes, it was a bender!’
I guess these police types, they’re not all bad.