My friend Elizabeth came up yesterday from the "big city" so we could go to a movie together. We've been trying to arrange this pretty much since I got back to KS in September. I chose for us to go to Mac rather than Newton or Hutch because Underworld started later there, plus it was closer. The theater in Mac is basically a storefront with on-the-street parking rather than a parking lot. So E -- who hasn't driven a van in many, MANY moons -- wouldn't have to back out on to Main Street after the movie, I advised her to go up a half a block and park in the USD office lot. We got to see the entire movie in a private showing because we're so special -- i.e., we were the first ones (and the only ones) to show up to see that showing, and being a small-town theater, they didn't start it until someone showed up to see it, even if they WERE late.
After the movie (it was about 6:15 or so), we walked calmly back to the USD office and got in the van. We truly WERE calm because we'd been lulled into sleepiness by the dark theater. Yeah, I know -- we're party animals. I noticed a janitor cleaning the office windows -- he glanced at us and then walked into the building. After a couple of minutes of trying to turn on the headlights (Mom has never clearly explained to me where the switch is so I can tell others) and THOROUGHLY cleaning my windshield in the process (oops, wrong one), we sedately pulled out of the lot and head back toward my house. E was carefully watching the speed limit signs because Heaven knows you DO NOT want to get stopped by a cop in a small town.
We had just cleared the downtown business area when we noticed flashing lights in the rearview mirrors.
What was I just saying about getting stopped by a cop in a small town?
We pulled over and started quizzing each other while waiting for the cop to approach.
Me: "Did we run a red light?"
E: "I don't think so."
Me: "Well you sure weren't speeding."
E: "Nnnnoooooo."
The nice young policeman walked up then.
Officer F: "The reason I pulled you over . . . . You know that parking lot you were in back there?"
E and me: "Yes."
Officer F: "Well, the janitor called and reported that you looked suspicious."
We explained to the nice young occifer why we were parked there, and he said OK but he needs to check E's license anyway. As he is doing so, we started laughing.
E: "Well, you do know, of course, that serial killers typically drive big white vans."
Me: "Yes, but do they typically have vanity plates on their vans?"
E: "You have a vanity plate? What does it say?"
Me: "Killer8." ::much laughing:: "No, not really. By the way, you don't have any bench warrants, do you?"
E: "I don't think so, but I guess we'll find out."
She didn't, and we were allowed to continue on our way. E said, to give the guy credit, he DID seem a bit embarassed to pull us over. ::snort:: He just doesn't know what a 5'2" woman and gimp can do on a good day, now does he?
Mom and Dad laughed about it when we told them, and Mom told me later she was going to have to restrict my going out with friends if we couldn't control our rabble rousing. ::grin:: If she only knew . . . .
Well, the more Dad thought about it, the more irritated he got. So this morning he'd worked himself up and called the USD office on the way to his doctor's appointments. Neither the superintendent nor his/her assistant was there (what'd he expect -- he was calling at just after 8 am), but he did talk to the person who was "in charge" of the janitor. When he opened with, "I have a complaint about your janitor," the guy replied, "Oh man, not again."
Truly, I tried to talk Dad out of calling, but he said, "No, that's just ridiculous. You're in a wheelchair and Elizabeth looks like she's about 80 pounds. Just how threatening could you guys have looked? It was harassment, pure and simple." Oh well. That's my protective Daddy.
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