Back in the mid-90’s, my someday-wife was coming into the city to visit a couple of friends and agreed that we could all hang out while she was there. As always, I wanted to impress her. Being about 15 at the time kinda limited my options though. With this in mind, I suggested a place where we could get together and was pumped that she was willing.
There was a community building in the complex next to where I was staying which residents could use for gatherings or parties and such. It had a kitchen, pool table and giant gathering style room and was perfect for showing off.
I brought a couple of my dudes along for the ride, mostly because I'd rather her friends have someone else to talk to beyond her. I was greedy like that. I mentioned “girls” and they were in.
When my someday-wife and her pair of friends arrived I let them in through the front door and everyone immediately began joking and having fun. I may have been a little misleading when I said I was permitted to use this place. But only insofar as I absolutely wasn't permitted in any way, shape or form and had actually broken in through the back before they arrived. Meaningless details really.
One of the girls broke out a baggie and began rolling straight wombats to pass around. While I never-ever used product, I was still having a great time as they took turns getting bombed outta their trees. The whole thing was so relaxed and fun.
Everyone was having a harmless blast when I heard keys jingle in the hallway beyond the door to the room we were in. I knew before I even looked who I was going to see walking though any moment now. The items on a patrol cops belt make a very distinctive and unique sound.
I sometimes hated it when I was right. The instant I glanced towards the only door in or out, a CPD officer cuts the doorway with his weapon drawn. Professional, but a little dramatic if you asked me.
Everyone froze, including me, as his eyes scanned the room.
“Who else is here?” He asks still looking around.
“It's just us.” one of my dudes responded.
He considered that for a moment and then holstered his gun before reaching for his radio. That's when I interrupted.
“Smith, come on man, you ain't gotta do that dog”. The officers name hadn't actually been “Smith” though. I've forgotten since that day what his name had been, but I knew it back then. Long story short, we had history, him and I. Officer “Smith” cursed under his breath when he recognized me.
I knew he was about to call in a Breaking and Entering and we were all going to get caught up in that and for the drugs. Weed was still an arrestable offense back then. While this barely even rose to the level of inconvenient in relation to myself, I found it unacceptable given who else was there.
I wasn't about to allow him to ruin her day.
Smith was an old school kind of beat-cop. He knew the neighborhood, he knew the people and most importantly, he knew the Game. While he may not have been friendly or on your side, he was someone you could reason with. He understood how things worked.
I told him that I was the one who broke in and that no one else there had even known I'd done that. They all believed that we were allowed to be there. Granted, that had only been true for the girls, but I knew to always overreach with my bullshit. He acknowledged that he believed me but then pointed out the weed. I couldn't own that so I had to then change my strategy.
“Okay, here's what I'll do.” I said to him as if I were legitimately in a position to negotiate, “Me and the fellas will stay if you let the girls leave.”
A proposal to which he responded by asking me why on Earth would he'd do that.
“Because you can't catch anyone if you're wrestling with me.” I stood up, “Maybe not even me.” While that may sound ridiculously bold, I was largely playing on his familiarity with me. It was partly serious, partly tongue-in-cheek. That's just how you had to interact is these situations. You had to go over the top.
I don't recall what he said specifically in response, however it was something to the effect of me being a disappointment. Whatever the case, he shook his head and told the girls to get out. Literally turning a “blind eye” as he got out of the doorway and looked aside.
Being smart enough to not overlook a gift, they took off in a hurry. Leaving the three of us sitting there on the couch while he called it in. One of the kids crying while the other one wouldn't shut up as he stuttered in a sad attempt to get sympathy and himself out of trouble. Honestly, I was embarrassed to be seen with them at this point. That said, what was simultaneously kinda cool and kinda crappy, was that he let the two of them go too.
The double edged sword of having history with this cop was that he was willing to be cool but, at the same time, I was never going to get an inch of that slack for myself. If nothing else, Smith was consistent.
Honestly, I think he did it mostly because it was easier to just deal with me as he was now able to load me up rather than wait forever for a wagon. About an hour later I was sitting on a bench along the wall at the station while waiting for someone from the downtown juvie-jail to come pick me up. Apparently all of the holding cells had adults in them.
Poor guy took his eyes off of me.
He should've known better than to take his eyes off of proto-me.
When officer Smith returned I was on someone's desk phone. I had gotten my cuffed hands from behind my back to the front and was chatting away without a care in the world. It's hilarious how other officers were in there with me and absolutely zero of them had noticed what I was doing.
“Hey! Hang that up!” I heard him yell behind me. Causing me to hurry and wrap up my call as quickly as possible.
“Who was that?” My someday-wife asked as I ignored her question and said, “anyway, I gotta go. I'll holla at ya soon, ‘ight?” However before she could answer the handset was snatched from me and slammed onto the receiver.
I had called her at home and perhaps told a few white lies. She had wanted to know what happened after they left and I'd told her it all worked out, that it was no big deal, and that it was mostly a big misunderstanding. I never mentioned that I had actually been arrested or that I was calling from the police station or anything like that.
I still remember her phone number from back then to this very day.
“Was that long distance?!” The cop barked at me as he looked at the area code in the call history. It didn't take much for a call to be considered long distance back then.
“That counts as your call” he continued frustrated.
“No it doesn't” I laughed. “But now that ya mention it, I need to make my phone call.”
It was quite some time later when I discovered that I hadn't fooled my someday-wife with that call. She had been suspicious afterwards and *69 to find out that I had called her from a police station. (For younger readers, *69 was a call return feature that would redial the last number that called you.)
Ironically, where I had thought I would've been in trouble, she found that while it was annoying, it was also incredibly romantic. (According to her) So I took that win without complaint.
It's funny how I kept accidentally inspiring that feeling in her back then. You girls are crazy but it worked out for me, so I'm glad for it.
Some people do dinner and a movie on dates, I did misdemeanors and felonies instead.
You always make me grin with these stories
That photo you picked is OK but I picture you in a police station looking more like Charlie Sheen in "Ferris Bueller's Day Off."