it's all about who you know
Relations are fortuitous.
Driving home with the Pie last night from our hilarious sojourn with the LCI
girls and various assorted males in attendance (we met this fun girl named
Sheri -- I wonder if we'll ever see her again? She has Cait's and Andy's
numbers now!), we were headed slowly down Elgin Street through the maelstrom
of traffic and people that makes up that particular area on a Friday night.
There was a lot of stop and go, because that's what it was like, and we were
slow enough that we were deeply involved in a conversation (never you mind
what it was about).
The next thing I know, this cop on the corner is directing the Pie to pull
over. I didn't know what the hell was going (so I was less than sober -- sue
me). I thought they were pulling us over for a random alcohol test, which had
me worried, because the Pie only has his G2, and he had drunk a couple that
afternoon, and another that evening, before we left -- not particularly legal.
Apparently, though, he had just followed some other guy through a red light.
Totally blatantly. And hadn't realized there were like "a thousand" cops
around that corner (or so the nice officer said).
He asks the Pie a few questions while he runs the license through the system.
Sniffs his breath. The Pie readily admits to having had a beer. Asks for
insurance and registration. We can't find the registration. It's not in the
car at all. You hear the dispatch come through, saying, " . . . black
two-door, registered to Andrew. Bernard. Maxwell. Flood." So that's a
relief, the car's not stolen, and the Pie isn't drunk. No registration,
though. So the ensuing conversation went something like this:
"Do you know what the fine is for running a red light?"
"No, I don't."
"It's $190. So I'm going to give you a ticket."
"Okay . . . "
"And because you don't have your registration, I'm going to give you a 72-hour
suspension, which means that you have to go down to the police station in the
next 72 hours -- do you know where that is?" [gestures down Elgin Street]
"-- Yeah, I know where it is, my dad's a cop."
[The Pie said later he detected a gleam in the officer's eye at this
point.]
"JOHN?"
"Yes." [a little uncertain as to what's going on]
[now, here's where the officer tries to trick the Pie, thinking that Maxwell
is part of a hyphenated name, when actually it's one of his innumerable middle
names]
"John MAXWELL?"
"No, John Flood. He retired around 2000."
[PAUSE. The officer straightens.]
"Have a good night."
As we drive away, the officer calls out to us, "This is the last warning
you'll ever get, Andrew!"
And that was that. It's not like he purposely played the Cop card, but it
kind of happened, and it saved his insurance quite a bit.
And that's my story. We drove home VERY carefully after that.
Working on a weekend is never fun. At least I can do this stuff at home in
the briefest of shorts and tank tops, and marvel at the marvellously hot day
brewing outside. Alas. And they say working for the Man is a 9-5 job!
Posted by Ally at June 4, 2005 11:18 AM