Stuck In A Babbling Cycle

(I have just driven through a yellow light; hand in the air, I pushed it a little bit. Turns out there is a cop checkpoint around the corner, and I am rightfully pulled to the side. I apologise to the officer and give him my license. This is the first time I have ever had any encounter with the law at all, so I am a little nervous, anyway. The cop also seems to be taking a very long time to run my details, which is only increasing my anxiety. Finally, he returns.)

Cop: “So… you have been flagged in our system for questioning over the theft of a bike.”

Me: *blinking* “What… A bike?”

Cop: “Yes. Do you have anything you would like to admit to me at this point?”

Me: *starting to freak out a little* “Yes! I mean, no! No, I have nothing to admit. But how did I steal a bike? I don’t have a motorcycle license, sir! I mean, I keep asking my dad if I can learn, because he has one and it looks fun, but then my mother keeps yelling at me every time I bring it up because my dad fell off one at my age. I think that freaks her out and she thinks I’m going to do the same. She works with doctors, so she gets all the horror stories. She promised I could for my 18th birthday, but then she claimed she didn’t remember it when my 18th birthday came…” *continues babbling for ages out of anxiety*

Cop: “No. It was a stolen mountain bike.”

(The cop got another officer to come meet with me at a later date to confirm my story. Turned out, an old classmate of mine used my name to resell an expensive stolen mountain bike at a local pawn shop. The cop was pretty convinced it hadn’t been me when they explained it was a Polynesian girl with black hair and dark skin, which was quite different than my light brown hair and pasty English complexion. I got a warning for running the yellow light. I have had no further run-ins with the law.)