At Times I Am Downright Maniacal

When I was a sophomore in college I was introduced, via the internet, to a friend of a friend (of a friend, in all honesty). There was a group of us chattering away on AOL Instant Messenger, usually in a chatroom, having discussions about absolutely nothing. What was peculiar was that my friend lived in Arizona, where he had moved junior year of high school. He met this other guy, who introduced him to his friends from the internet. One of these friends ironically lived maybe an hour or two away from me in South Jersey. After a while we began to hang out, and one day we decided she would come visit me at my school so we could party and have fun. At this point I was a junior and had discovered the joys of drinking so we were set to have a blast. We dropped her car at my mom’s house (I went to school 20 minutes away but lived on campus) and headed back to good old Daniels University.

Sheila and I were a lot alike. She was a girl and a lot shorter than I was, but personality-wise we were a good fit. We told stupid jokes, giggled, (Er, she giggled. As a man I gave a hearty guffaw) and generally enjoyed each other’s company for the usual two or three days she’d visit. We were basically good kids. Until we decided to become the Bonnie and Clyde of New Jersey. We were driving along, almost to campus, and drove by a series of road cones strewn about by the curb.

“Huh,” I said, passingly, “those aren’t really doing much, huh?” She agreed. Somehow the idea came up that we could take two. “One for me, and one for you.” I forget whose idea it was, but I quickly turned the car around and drove back to the scattered pylons. Little Sheila hopped out and quickly scooped up our booty and we sped back off into the night.

Three blocks later I was stopped at a red light and glanced in my rear-view mirror. The fuzz! “Sheila!” I spat out in a frantic whisper, “There’s a cop behind us. Hide the cones!” She twisted in the passenger seat and tried to cover them with a jacket. In retrospect this was probably a bad idea, as the cruiser’s roof almost immediately blazed into red and blue lights.

Let me take a moment to describe the town Daniels is in. It is not a college town. It’s your typical little Jersey town full of big houses and rich people. This means that there is little a college kid can do to get in a lot of trouble. This also means there is very little for the police to do.

Fairly soon a second cruiser, roof alight, pulled up. The first officer approached my car and asked us to step out. We were asked a few questions, but it was for show. They had us pegged. Someone had seen us and ratted us out. They took back our hot goods and one officer looked around inside my car a bit while we waited. I turned to the other, prepared to deliver the most macho thing anyone has ever said to the police ever.

“Uh. Um. Officer?”

“Yeah?”

“I er, have this anxiety thing so if, uh, I throw up it’s not because I’ve been drinking or on drugs or, like, anything? Ok?” (Whenever I recount this story, that’s the part that drives the women crazy.)

“There’s nothing to worry about, we just have to ask you some questions. Calm down.” Ok, so, they were gonna take the cones back, give us what-for, slap on the wrist, send us on our way. Then they separated us for questioning. There was one key question. “Who took the cones?”

“Er. We did.”

“No. Which one of you actually took them?” Oh. So it came down to this. I was the wheelman. The getaway driver. I kept the motor running; my little Bonnie grabbed the goods. I like to think what I did next was honorable. Even if it was lying to a cop.

“Me. I took them.”

“Ok.” He returned to his back-up who was questioning Sheila. About this time a third police car, this one an SUV, pulled up on the opposite curb lit up like a Christmas tree. Did I mention that we were literally in front of the police station? I could see it. I was not shaping up to be a good criminal mastermind. My officer came back. “So… you say you took the cones. But she’s saying that she took them. Which is it?” I wanted to keep up my lie, but I was afraid Sheila would stick to her story too, which had the benefit of being true, and then I’d be in trouble for stealing and lying to a policeman. I came clean.

“S-she did.”

“Alright.” Our story clear, it was time for our slap on the wrist. Or so I thought. Sheila was cuffed and stuffed into the back of the cruiser. We could have walked to the station, but I guess it had to be done by the books. Then one of the cops came towards me. I halfheartedly held out my arms, wrists close together. Would they tow my car? Just leave it here? Why oh why did I turn to this life of crime?!

“Alright. Go on. Get out of here.”

I stared at him, lowering my wrists a fraction. “What?”

“We’ve gotta process her. You can go.”

“I- what? But she…” I looked over his shoulder at my sullen friend locked in the back of the car. “Shouldn’t I come too? Can’t I stay with her?”

“No. It’s gonna take a while. Hour or two. It’s best if you just go home and we’ll call you when we’re done.”

And so I was forced to get back into my car and leave Sheila to her fate. I drove the remaining few blocks to campus like any criminal would after narrowly escaping the coppers- sobbing uncontrollably with fear and guilt.