The MisAdventures of Scargirl
A Division of SamSword
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“Oh! There is someone there!” exclaimed Kate. She was more responsible than my sister and I put together.

 
 
 
 
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Being in the front, I saw a flashlight and someone all dressed in black looking in the window of the side door. My heart began to race. Quickly, I glanced around the living room to see if anything looked suspicious.

humorous cop story

The Night of Cops and Robbers

My friends were in a band. They shared a house in a bad part of town. The neighborhood was filled with gangs. My cousin's boyfriend was the son of one the biggest gang leaders known. They lived near the house of my friends. Along with them, my father's father had a house nearby just one street down.

The neighborhood was old style America. Big houses made of wood panels. Being a Latino neighborhood, the houses were all sorts of funky and bright colors.

Living in the Chicago suburbs led me to have pretty thick skin. I wouldn't call myself fearless. Maybe I was lacking common sense. I have heard that everyone has this fear serum in their brains, of course, some more than others. I think this is the fluid that gives one good judgement.

Maybe this is what I was lacking. One night my best friend Kate, my sister and I went to watch the guys practice. The band room was in the attic. It was quite tight for space with all their gear set up. It was around 9:00pm.

My father, being well familiar with this side of town, forbid us to ever go there. Throughout my life, my father never forbid much. But this was a no-no. My parents being divorced would make it pretty difficult for my father to enforce any of his rules. My mother would not care if we were at the house.

So, we were at the house. By city ordinance, the guys had to be quiet after 10:00pm. This was pretty early for musicians living La Vida Loca. In between songs we heard a knock at the door. Us groupees were the closest to the stairs and made our way down while the guys waited for our report.

Being in the front, I saw a flashlight and someone all dressed in black looking in the window of the side door. My heart began to race. Quickly, I glanced around the living room to see if anything looked suspicious.

I backed up and whispered loudly, “Someone's trying to get in!”

“No,” said my sister in disbelief. She was always the more logical one.

Then collectively the three of us saw and heard the brass doorknob wiggle.

“Oh! There is someone there!” exclaimed Kate. She was more responsible than my sister and I put together.

The two of them let out a scream. I had my head on straight. “I will scare them!” I boldly remarked. And then, pressing my two hands together, joining my index fingers, I pretended my hands were a gun. I drew this gun and pointed it in the direction of the burglar.

Much to my surprise, the burglar froze. Took an odd stance, one that I had seen in the movies, and then drew his gun on me! “Freeze!”

Again, Kate and my sister screamed. This time with more authority. I could not see the expression on the face of Kate and my sister. But even now it was as if I could. Perhaps because I had witnessed it the way I was imagining it so many times before.

I stood there lock-jawed and baffled. Dumbfounded. What was going on?

One loud band on the door was followed by another. My sister rolled her eyes like only she could, “My God you moron, it's the cops! You drew a fake gun on the cops! You're so stupid!”

“Oh my God! What should we do?” replied Kate.

Before the words had finished coming out her mouth my sister was on her way to let them in.

They had a lot of questions for us. The one I hated the most was, “Do your parents know where you are?” Instead of feeling like a mature seventeen year old, I felt like I was seven. Or worse, like I had done something a juvenille delinquent would.

Emotionless, I did not reply; I did not like to lie. The cop with whom I had a showdown looked at me, “Did you not know we were cops?”

“No. We thought you were robbers,” I said shamedly.

“YOU. You thought they were robbers,” my sister rebutted In disgust. Thankfully, she did not think the two policemen attractive, or she would have asked them out, even though she had only one year on me.

She snarled at me.

Kate remained quiet.

“Don't ever draw on a cop! Or pretend to! I almost shot you. I really did. Until I heard you scream,” he chided.

Surely I was shrinking in size. All 60 inches of me. If it were possible. I was too cool to scream. A real tomboy. A leave-your-hair-for-a-week-and-don't-wash-it kinda girl. Biting and scratching, kicking and squealing. This was never my style. Ironically, it might very well have been by the Grace of God that my sister and Kate were girlie girls.

I don't remember exactly, but I'm pretty sure we told my dad about the misadventure. And I'm pretty sure he was not happy. It was either from this misadventure or another. It's funny how some things just escape you.

 

Written by Jori Sams



 
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