Police Work Is Child’s Play, Part 2

, , , , , | Working | December 27, 2013

(I am in a retail store with my boyfriend looking for something for my 25th birthday. We are holding hands most of the time. At the till, I see a cashier watching us.)

Cashier: “Okay. That’s $10.” *my boyfriend pays* “Thanks.”

Me: “[Boyfriend], I feel tired. Can we go to the car?”

Boyfriend: “Yeah. Of course, sweetie.”

(He goes. I see the cashier smiling at me.)

Cashier: “You want to buy anything else? Make-up? Music CDs? There’s some skinny jeans 70 percent off.”

Me: “No, thanks. My boyfriend and I just want to go.”

Cashier: “Boyfriend?”

Me: “Yeah?” *nervous* “Are you hitting on me?”

Cashier: *alarmed* “No! No.”

(I think nothing of it. A little way down the street I see a police car behind us. My boyfriend pulls over and to our surprise, the car stops behind us.)

Boyfriend: “Is the tail-light out?”

Officer #1: “Sir, could you step out, please?”

Boyfriend: *confused* “Sure.”

Officer #2: *to me* “I just need your name, miss.”

Me: “What’s going on? I promise, we weren’t drinking or anything, I just want to know why my boyfriend’s been pulled over.”

Officer #2: “It’s nothing to worry about. You’re safe.”

Me: “Wait, what—”

Officer #3: “[Officer #1]!”

(I see out the rear mirror the officer has picked up our shopping. Inside the shopping bag are magazines, both fashion and car, alcohol, little packets of cookies, cookie mix, and condoms. Also inside are some birthday candles, which the officer is holding. I hear the first officer shout at my boyfriend, but I can hardly work any out.)

Officer #1: “YOU ARE IN BIG TROUBLE, MISTER! Get in the car now!”

Boyfriend: “Look, I…”

Officer #1: “DO YOU REALIZE HOW MUCH TROUBLE YOU’RE IN? I’m taking your phone and when we get to your house. We’re taking your laptop and any other evidence at the house. We also need to contact this girl’s parents. If they’re covering for you, that’s sick.”

Me: *to [Officer #2]* “What’s going on? Why is he being arrested? Has he done something?”

Officer #2: “It’s okay now, [My Name]. I need to ask you some questions. They may not be nice, but I need an answer.”

Me: “Okay.”

(I see my boyfriend being taken in the police car and driven away. I begin to get tense and play with my hair.)

Officer #2: “When’s your birthday?”

Me: “[Date].”

Officer #2: “How old are you going to be?”

Me: “Milestone birthday.”

Officer #2: “Okay, milestone. So what? 13? 16? 18?”

Me: “What? 25!”

Officer #2: “25!” *talks in radio* “Er, [Officer #1], we kind of need to talk.”

Me: *beginning to realize* “Oh, my God. Look. I can prove it! Here’s my driver’s license. My parents have a ton of photos at home of me in the last five years, and I got my graduate certificate somewhere… Just… who reported it?”

Officer #2: “A cashier. We got a picture of some girl aged eleven to sixteen, hard to tell in that bomber jacket, being taken out by a man in his late twenties, early thirties. Plus, what we found in the shopping bag…”

Me: “Oh, God. I feel soooo bad.”

(My boyfriend was released from the cells soon after. A couple of days later, I turned 25. I have to say, it was the most embarrassing part of remembering how old I really am!)

 

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