My Run-In with the Law

There is a saying at Wishard--you're never in more danger than when you're minding your own business. (Whenever someone came in to the ER who had been stabbed or shot, the obvious answer to the question of how it happened was inevitably, "I don't know. I was just there, minding my own business...") But it's true this time. There I was, just minding my own business when I had my run-in with the law this afternoon...

It all started with a quick dash into Kohl's. I needed my watch battery replaced, and ten short minutes after walking in I was out the door again and re-setting the hour on my timepiece. It also seemed like a good time to organize the dozens of credit card receipts in my cupholder...and I had some newspapers on the floor to clean up...and then the cord on my tape adapter for my iPod needed untangling. So many things to do when all of a sudden I hear a tap on my window. It was the police, and from the look on the officer's face I'd been busted for goodness knows what. I pondered langorously and confusedly about which was more appropriate--rolling down the window or opening the door altogether. My time-consuming internal struggle only seemed to make the officer more peeved. In a fit of panic I flung the door open.

"Hey buddy....[pause]...uhm, ma'am?"
"It's ma'am," I reassured him, though he seemed doubtful.
"Is this your truck?"
"Yes." Ack! My first lie! It immediately occured to me that if he asked to see the registration, he would find that it was still in Babushka's name. And then what?! He would call to ask Babushka if she knew where her truck was, and she would undoubtedly answer, "I don't know, some buddy took it."
"Well, I was just noticing how you were ducking around a lot under the dash. I figured you were trying to steal the radio out."
I immediately understood why I'd aroused his suspicions, among other things, but I panicked anyway. "No...it's not that...receipts...see!" I blurted out incoherently. "Look, I'm organized!"

He did not seem impressed, though after such a chaotic display of shopping receipts, he did seem finally convinced that I was female. Small victory. It was at that point that my nervousness transferred back to the officer, who went into a long apology for both accusing me of being a boy and a thief. He hoped I hadn't taken any of it wrongly. Ha! He must have thought I was likely to make a complaint regarding the host of degradations he'd piled upon me. Little did he know that I was de-sensitized years ago at the zoo, where I was mistaken daily for a Boy Scout. Ultimately I found my cool again. I gave an impromptu speech pontificating on the virtues of vigilance. We thanked each other kindly and headed off on our merry ways.

Now where the hell was he when my catalytic converter was stolen?

The heat, the stench...

I have a trip down memory lane for Cassandra. Does any of this look familiar?









That's right. It's Dellwood! That mystical land of misery! That vast wasteland that masquerades as a campground! Further proof that your annual Girl Scout cookie funds go to support a very special breed of terrorism. Any coincidence that the juvenile center is just up the street and Camp Dellwood has a cemetery on its grounds? I think not...

I voiced my human rights concerns on Tuesday, though my protests were brushed aside. "Scouting isn't for everyone." I should say not. No child should be subjected to such a place. As an adult, however, it made for a pretty decent afternoon.

In a break from my normal trap shooting, I went out to Dellwood for an after hours archery lesson. It was a good time. In a refreshing change from clay pigeons, the archery target didn't move, and it was about the size of a Smart car. And because I was one of the adults, I got to ride around on a golf cart like I was all superior or something. I have a picture of my red sneakered-foot below to prove it. Pretty impressive, huh?