A funny thing happened on the way to the bus stop...

I had popped by ma's house the Friday morning before Christmas to deliver her a parcel of Stam bonbons, Lindt truffles, and butter cookies. While there we retrieved a hand mixer long since retired and I placed that in my cloth grocery bag and made my way to the bus stop. About a block-and-a-half down, I heard a voice from behind instructing me to stop and turn around, or something to that extent.

I complied in puzzlement and turned around to stare down the barrel of a service revolver held by one of the PD's finest, standing behind the driver's door of his cruiser. I cannot quite remember if he asked me to get on the ground once or twice; I easily could have been dumbfounded enough to have not caught it the first time. But once I caught on I slowly complied, putting my sack and bottle of water down as I proceeded to lie spread eagled with my nose somewhat to the damp cold pavement, accompanied on the way down to my newfound mantra of "Yes, sir." At least I know how to lie on the ground without being prompted on the details.

So there I was one sneeze from being blown away, while he called for backup. I asked what was up and the officer said there was time for that later. A few awkward minutes passed before another police cruiser pulled up across the street. As backup approached, I felt compelled to describe the contents of my pockets so they would not feel like they came upon any little surprises, you know like cell phone mistaken for gun and such.

Eventually after patting me down and ransacking my sack–alas backup was not gay or at the least not gay enough–I was instructed to stand up but still keep my arms raised. It was at this opportunity I decided to inject a little humor into the situation and state, "This is kind of a bowel movement moment here, guys!" Fortunately, I and my sphincter have an agreement on such occasions.

So while backup did a check on my ID, the officer–who had holstered his weapon at this point–stated his case on why I was approached in such a guarded manner while I brushed off the flotsam of my extended period on the chilly ground. There had been an armed robbery of a credit union a few blocks down up the street, and the preliminary description of the suspect was that he left holding a bag. And so while canvassing the neighborhood for the perpetrator he came upon me walking down the street, and holding a bag.

Now you would think that casually walking–not running–down the street would have been something of an indication of my potential guilt. And how many armed robbers with sacks would have proceeded in such a manner while clutching a bottle of water in their gun hand? "You'll never take me dehydrated, copper!"

I asked inquiringly, "I assume I handled this well," whereas the officer responded, "You handled this very well." I figured in situations like this an inappropriate response at the beginning would have been to exclaim, "What the fuck did I do?" or "Why the hell should I?" Local oaf dead in the street, film at eleven.

Backup returns with my wallet and states that I'm clean. Officer #1 extends his hand at this point for a hearty handshake and a "Merry Christmas." And I'm left walking the remainder of my journey laughing my head off in stunned bewilderment. A few minutes later at the bus stop another police cruiser comes by, and the officer behind the wheel rolls down the passenger windows and inquires if I was the fellow the other officers had talked to earlier. I should have yelled "So what if I am?", but demurred with a whimsical "Umm.. yea."

The next day I got to read in the paper a more descriptive narrative of the robber. "He walked out with two white bags and an undisclosed amount of money, police said. The robber was described as being about 5 feet 5 inches tall and wearing a white shirt, blue jeans and a bandanna, police said. He also wore a black stocking cap and a ski mask."

I, however, carried one white bag, am 6 feet tall, and was wearing a black shirt, black sweatpants, black hi-tops, a black leather jacket, and a darkish Drake University ball cap in reverse. I guess in lieu of being black, attiring in black is enough to warrant an armed inquisition.

Happy fucking holidays!


A follow-up on Saturday, January 06, 2007 at 11:49 AM

The suspect recently arrested in the case was identified as Michael Carlos WIEST. I guess when the cops approached me–last name 'WEST'–at gunpoint shortly after the credit union robbery, they were just one vowel short of their man!

My pal of color, Carter, commented "You're more black than I am... this has never happened to me!" And he's dealt with the Clive police while canvassing neighborhoods at night. So I think my theory of dressing in black has some merit. At the least I used to enjoy tallboys of King Cobra malt liquor until the cops shut down all the black bars many moons ago. Rest in peace: T.N.T. Lounge.