The OTHER Arrest - sort of

I was 19 and screwing up left and right, which is hard to accomplish under the watch of parental units. I was tired of getting yelled at for sneaking in past curfew. I was holding down two jobs, so I struck out on my own, or rather, I moved in with the hottie from the ice-cream shop. He neglected to tell me that he still lived with his dad in a two-bedroom apartment. He also neglected to tell me that his brother was autistic and liked to masterbate in the kitchen. Small matters really, in comparison to tucking ye ol' tale and moving back home.

Before long I discovered my ice-cream boy liked to steal things. Specifically, my ice-cream boy liked to run around night, trying the handles of car doors. If they were open, anything in the car was public domain: music, clothing, coffee mugs, cigarettes, groceries, etc... One morning Ice-Cream Boy decided that we needed to be nice to his dad and go get some groceries...oh, and this is his mom's check so would I mind signing it? I'd met his mom - she was nice. It made sense - pretend to be the woman on the check.

After we unloaded the groceries, Ice-Cream Boy informed me that I had committed check fraud. I was officially a criminal. After that realization I began keeping score. The paper reported a burglery at a high-end beauty salon. I searched the apartment until I found a stash of expensive hair products and a neon "open" sign. I stopped taking his CD's to the office, stopped borrowing his clothes to jog in, and started eating take-out.

One morning at the office I was going about my business when the silent alarm (a flashing office light) went off. I LOVED that, because I was buddies with security and they would let me come to the booth and watch the robbers get nabbed. Imagine my surprise when said robber was Ice-Cream Boy trying to buy a fucking television with a stolen credit card.

I was fired (guilt by association) and moved out the same day, but it wasn't soon enough. I had only been at my new residence (a couch in the basement of a friend's house) for a few weeks when my mom called. Two uniformed police officers were at the door with a search warrant, and their car was in the driveway with lights a-flashing. They were looking for me.

I did what any good citizen does in a time like this: freak the hell out. When I calmed down I decided to go to the station. They printed me and photographed me. They told me they were investigating Ice-Cream Boy. The grocery store identified me as the person who had passed the bad check. They offered me a deal; show them where Ice-Cream Boy's mom lived and they'd lose my file.

Oh god I sang like a bird. I sang about everything there was to sing about. I got in that squad car and sang all the way to Indianapolis and back. "Here's where his mom lives...what? Pawn shop? Oh yes, turn left... Yes, he did fantasize about armed robbery, turn right and I'll show you the store he said he wanted to knock off...yes-sir-no-problem-sir..."

Ice-Cream Boy was busted a few days later trying to pawn off stolen good to pay for his attorney fees from the credit card bust. True to their word, I was forgotten.

***and with that, dear friends, I leave you for a week. I'm heading to the mountains, heading to Charleston, heading wherever the camera leads me. Have a wonderful 4th, and I'll "see" you when I return on the 11th.***