civic duty: done

The cop did show up in full uniform, gun and handcuffs and all. His shiny business card says he’s a Corporal – I don’t know what that is, but it sure sounds fancy.

We walked through the office to a boardroom so I could give my statement. I had to write it out with a PEN – how delightfully 1883 – and we talked while I diligently tried to fit my enormous handwriting on an 8×14 piece of official police paper.

Turns out the bad man confessed to stealing my plate because he had just purchased a stolen motorcycle from “some guy” and wanted to go for a ride. He was pulled over for speeding – not the smartest thing to do when riding an illegal bike with a stolen plate – and when the cop got out of his car, the perp drove into him and dragged him out onto the highway. He pulled the guy off the bike and they both rolled around on the pavement for a bit, luckily not getting hit by cars.

Even though the arresting officer is also the victim and he has a recorded confession plus the bike, the plate AND my original police report, he STILL needed to get my solemnly sworn statement that I had reported my plate stolen at least 4 days before he guy was caught by his own incredible stupidity. So, I gave it. I am noble.

Unfortunately, I probably won’t have to go to court and testify (although I’m totally willing to, because that would be awesome). The bad guy confessed and won’t fight the charges of Grand Theft License Plate or Driving Into an Officer Seriously Are You Stupid or Something, so they’ll just throw him in jail or fine him or something. I am not clear what exactly they do to criminals; by this point the sunglasses are usually off and The Who is screaming over the credits.

While I AM sorry that the cop got hurt (minorly; he said it wasn’t too bad), I am strangely proud of my missing license plate for having such an adventure without me.

And it totally worked; my office was scandalized. It was especially awesome that as I saw the cop out, my BossBoss was walking in. I hope he thinks the worst. That can only be truly hilarious.

OH I almost forgot the best part – the cop said that normally he would just ask me to write up a statement and email it to him, but he usually doesn’t get enough information that way and has to go back and forth with the witness. Of all the things I could have POSSIBLY done wrong in this scenario, being guilty of not providing enough information is probably the least likely thing EVER. If anything, he would have gotten a booklet of prose and haiku based on what I did over the 12 hours my scooter was tampered with. Not enough information, my ASS!

are you the legal guardian of john connor

This week has been an enormous disappointment to me. Everything is going wrong:

  • my iPhone woes are further from resolution than ever (read the ongoing saga here)
  • I’m waiting for a bunch of things in the mail that are way overdue and my inquiry emails are going unanswered
  • my plan to scandalize the office has failed because the police haven’t shown up to question me at the office

Sometimes you just need to create a little drama to make the day more exciting.

The police were supposed to visit me at work this morning, but no one has come for me yet. I received a call yesterday afternoon advising me they would be here just after 9am, and I wanted to have some fun with it: I *could* have told the receptionist about it and how it was totally innocent and not to worry, but there is little fun to be found in reassuring people that you are not a criminal mastermind. It is much more entertaining and hilarious to let people be shocked and wonder amongst themselves exactly what I did to cause the police to come hunt me down at work. Things get boring around here sometimes; it’s good to shake up the status quo.

A lovely-sounding gentleman called me up yesterday afternoon, asking if I had reported my license plate stolen in April. I said that I had, and he let me know that my plate had been found.

By him.

On a stolen motorcycle.

That ran him over.

He needed to meet with me to get an official report so he could present it to the Crown Royal (as is my understanding of our judicial system) to prove his case against the criminal(s) that ran him over with my stolen plate. I offered to meet him somewhere, but he said it would be easier for him to come by my office if I didn’t mind a cop in full uniform showing up asking for me. I immediately saw the potential for awesomeness in this situation, and jumped at the chance for a cop visit because I am a shit disturbing trouble maker.

One thing I’ll always be amused at is my need to detail every aspect of my life on the internet for people – but mostly myself – to refer to later. They need to know exactly where my scooter was parked and when I reported the plate stolen. I have all this information – I wrote about it as soon as I got home, meaning I have a very definite time stamp and memory of what happened that day. I would make an excellent witness for all things, and I’m totally not even Harrison Ford.

No one has come, though. I can’t call and ask because the number is blocked from my caller ID, so I’m left .. waiting. It’s sort of the story of my life. I hate waiting. I’m sad, too – I wanted to have an excellent story to share with you this morning about how the police came and took me away and people were thoroughly flabbergasted by it all, but no. Not even THIS can go smoothly for me. It’s not FAIR.

True to my nature though, I’m now concerned that the phone call I received yesterday was in fact a diversion and there is a 24-esque plot afoot and REAL criminals are going to come get me and beat me to get the secret launch codes, or that I inadvertantly gave the “policeman” my credit card information and Social Insurance Number and now I’m going to be frauded.

Maybe I should go hide.