“Bonnie and Clyde were pretty looking people. But I can tell you, people, they were the devil’s children.”
“Do I look suspicious to you?” I asked my roommate when I got back from work last night.
“Um… no.”
“Well, I got stopped by a cop on the way home and I was curious if I was doing something different. Thanks.”
Over the years I’ve often told my sister that, as an older brother, I’ve tried to set the bar low for her to follow. I was the only one brought the only report card D and Cs that appeared in our home (and for a brief, infamous period, a noteworthy F I’d slaved all summer to earn). I had the easily avoidable accident that I joked led to a “free ambulance ride” until my parents tersely informed how not free it was and discouraged that line of jesting.
Note: This is not to say I never set a low goal for myself. I am still proud of the first time I took the ACT exam. While other friends were aiming for a 25 or 30 out of 35, my stated intention was to score simply “double digits.” I made my goal that time.
I was the one who too often “accidentally” let the cat of the basement, I was the one who lost my glasses out of the window of a moving car, I was the one who broke various windows for reasons ranging from a practical joke that went too far to getting keys locked in the car on a stormy night.
The list -- and the often resulting scar tissue -- goes on ad nauseam. Most recently I graduated college with no visible job prospects (talents and skills, yes, but network connections, no).
I thought this would make life easier for my sister who is about to finish her final semester at college (well, this wasn’t my driving rationale for doing this, but I’ve often told her it would later make her better in comparison).
She’s dealing with the stress of concluding her undergraduate degree along with the responsibilities of job searching, seeming working on half a dozen plays, hanging out with friends, and trying to make sure her long-planned after-graduation trip to the British Isles stays on track. With all these concerns, it’s easy for her to lose track of how much she as accomplished and what her probable prospects will be upon her graduation.
I typically call my sister on Monday nights after I get done with work (well, it’s still Monday for me, though it’s Tuesday for her). Even with the time zone difference, I can solidly bet that she’ll be up.
Anyway, in was in the midst of a general pep talk about our differences and how she looked to be much better set up than I was when fate interceded to underline my point.
I found myself making the following statement: “Can I call you back? Apparently a cop wants to talk to me.”
A patrol car had pulled up and an officer was getting out. I had an inkling this might happen because he drove past me twice before coming around a final time. When you’re out walking on an abandoned street and a police car passes you multiple times in under a minute, you should be able to guess you’re becoming a person of interest.
I figure he had just barely seen me the first time he cruised past, turned around to catch back up with me, and did one more pivot to find a parking space. I calmly hung up my phone and waited for the officer to approach me.
The officer asked me what I was up to and where I was going. I told him I had just finished work and was heading home.
He asked me where home was. I hesitated a moment (which happens when you have multiple mailing address and haven’t used either for a long period of time). Somewhat mechanically, I spelled out the number of the address, rather than rattling off like 1270 Eagle (as one would with an address they’ve known for years).
The officer then asked me where I worked at. I told him I worked at the local newspaper. Doing what, he asked. Well, I told him, I most recently finished making a mess of the front page (where in my second to last draft, I had tried to spell Governor on a jumpline with extra letters [Governort], and I had a filler secondary headline that was twice the acceptable length).
The fact that I worked as an editor seemed to make the officer pause. He made a statement about always looking into all the people who are out walking after a certain hour to cut down on burglaries. I politely kept my mouth shut about this being the route I’ve taken for nearly two months now and never having seen a police cruiser before.
He said he needed to look at my license so his dispatcher would know what he was up to. I gladly gave him my Missouri driver’s license. I looked like he’d rather have let me keep on walking then and there, but once one starts a process it’s hard to break it off mid way. As he read off my name and information, I wondered if anyone was still around the newsroom and would hear my name over the police scanner.
The officer and I made brief small talk as my Missouri information slowly made its way out west. Eventually it confirmed who I said I was and the officer bid me a good night.
As he started to climb back in the cruiser, I called out, “Just one question!”
He paused.
“Just to be curious, can I know your name?”
He hesitated, but told me his name. He then joked that he hoped he wouldn’t see it in the paper any time soon. I told him not to worry; I just wanted to know his name so I could be listening for it on the police scanner. Smiling, I wished him a good evening and walked away.
Calling my sister back, and filling her in and the unexpected stop, I said, “Now where was I? I believe I telling you how much better off you would be compared to me and I think the fact that I look suspicious enough to be pulled over a cop only further validates what I’ve been saying.”
I love my sister and I know she’s going to do well in the job place (once she gets back from London, Dublin, and beyond. I’ve long joked that I purposely set the bar low, but I recognize that her achievements have been sterling on their own and would shine regardless of my previous actions.
Still, she has to admit, if she was put in a similar situation as I was, she would be less likely to be considered a potential burglary suspect than I.
You’re welcome, sis.
said...
Your post makes me want to vomit. It's oozing with affectionate phrases. Yuck. Also, your assumptions about the officer's actions are wrong. Keith is going to be mad at me for ruining your streak again. Sorry Keith.
Caleb Michael said...
Cory, I admit I was simply guessing his thoughts based on his body language and comments I have heard about the local police.
Maybe you, the son of a law enforcement officer, would like to give an alternative reading of the events.
said...
I would love to! Sadly, I am departing for my home in Sully shortly and will not be able to, give my reading until next week-or possibly never. We will see.