COPS: Whatcha gonna do? Whatcha gonna do?

Since the dawn of mankind there have been squabbles and skirmishes. Over the centuries these small frays grew into larger fights and deaths and many destructive actions. The cure for these actions was decided upon by the Treaty of Glaze in 1538. This treaty brought into existence policemen. In addition to creating a police force and supplying them with as many donuts as they could handle (known thenceforth as “glazed” donuts), the treaty also gave the policemen the overruling ability to strike fear into the hearts of otherwise stoutly and brave men. In order to accomplish this, the police were given beat sticks and guns. I encountered a breakdown into fear due to an encounter with the police a few months ago. I will start a few days prior to the incident.

            I have never personally met the man known as Murphy, but I have experienced his laws many times in my lifetime. One of said laws is “If anything can go wrong, it will.” It was this law that brought the fear-bringers down on my friends and me. We had planned to insert forks, knives, and spoons of a plastic nature into yards, mailboxes, and plants of shrubbery-like nature belonging to our friends of the female nature. In other words, we were going to fork our formidable female foes. Prior to our adventure we created plans and organized ourselves in order to minimize the possibility of failure or being discovered. For instance, as follows is the credo that all participants had to read and swear to:

I <state name> do solemnly swear under pain of death to keep my big fat mouth shut up tight as a man’s belt on Thanksgiving night. And should I reveal to any the information enclosed here within, I shall be cast into a dark place where all food is mixed with Sauerkraut…

The oath goes on, with the point remaining that we had not intention of allowing leaks to go unpunished.

However, despite all the planning, code names, and slide shows that we used to keep our intentions from becoming as common knowledge as the capital of Zimbabwe[1], one thing that was never considered was the possibility of the cops (called this due to their copper colored hair) arriving and spoiling our fun while scaring our pants off at the same time. The thing that makes cops so dangerous is that they carry guns and can be summoned by a mere phone call from anyone of any age. Our bane was a paper woman who noticed “suspicious characters” performing “satanic rituals” near a house in an “otherwise peaceful” neighborhood. The rituals were those of us attempting to hide from the lady. Upon reflecting, it is possible the only reason she called was because we tried to hide (she most likely felt left out and hurt that we would try to avoid her, so she decide to ruin our fun by setting the police on to us.

During the act of forking the police came. They were intelligent, far more so than we are. Originally they sent a single car and scouted out the area around us, but after that they brought in reinforcements. Since we were in a cul-de-sac they did not immediately see us. However, our cars were discovered due to stupidity on the part of one of the members of our group whom I shall keep protected by referring to him as Justin H. … actually, I had better make it J. Hartley. While J. Hartley’s actions may have resulted in the discovering of our cars, it might have given us the few minutes we needed in order to flee the scene of the misdemeanor. When I say that “we” fled the scene, what I mean is, “some of us” fled. Jason Petry, J. Hartley, and myself were unable to flee because upon the appearance of the cops we were all on the porch and unable to escape without being seen. What happened next was the most frightening moment of my life.

Crouching on a porch behind a small pile of logs and a bush, with Jason’s head far to close to my buttocks, I stayed motionless for endless minutes. The minutes turned into quintuplets of minutes, and then it was basically over. However, during those 5 minutes or so when I knelt, still as most Jell-O brand gelatin deserts that I have ever made[2], I felt pangs of fear and illness that I had never before felt. In situations where one knows the odds are stacked against them, such as betting on the Cubs to win the World Series, or crouching on a porch surrounded by thousands of forks while four or so policemen wander about shining a flashlight in his general direction, a person tends to think of extreme thoughts. Some of these thoughts that I encountered included: standing up and yelling “DON’T SHOOT!”, running away and hoping they did not pursue, and oinking at them until they noticed it. As the seconds ticked slowly past, I thought more than once about each of these plans.

I never was forced to execute one of my daring plans, because just as my legs were about to give out from being in a crouch for so long the nearest cop shone his light onto the porch and illuminated J.’s face. Knowing the jig was up, Jason and I rose to meet our fate. J., however, remained seated, and I could not help but wonder if he truly thought he was still safe. Perhaps he died from the fright. We will never know. The cops began the interrogation immediately. They began by asking who supplied our drugs. We told them honestly that we did not do drugs. Their follow-up questions included: “How are you?”, “Have you seen that new Jackie Chan movie?”, and “Do the people who live here know you?” We responded with “Scared, no, and yes.” They did not seem satisfied with our last answer so they proceeded to ring the doorbell of house. Our rival’s father came to the door looking tired, but up for a good chuckle. When asked if he knew us he said he did. When asked if he wanted to press charges he said he did not. When asked if he wanted us to clean up the mess he said, “What mess?” The cops then realized that they had never really explained why we were there, so they stepped aside and showed the great creation we had masterfully shaped. At this point the tired man simply blinked once, and then fell over in a dead faint. The cops told us it would be best if we had the yard cleaned up before he woke up. We did so.

I learned a few things just before I was discovered by the police. After they had shined the light in my eyes I basically forgot all that I had learned and was forced to relearn how to use a spoon. One thing that I have not forgotten, nor will I ever forget it, is that no one should EVER ask a cop if he wants a non-glazed donut[3] .