It was December 6, a Friday. 

I told my wife I was going on a 

few errands and I'd be right back. 

As drove up to the dry cleaners 

I noticed a lot of people milling 

around the parking lot (which I 

found odd for an especially cold 

winter's day). 

   I asked the cleaners what was 
   
going on. "The bank down the street 

just got robbed!" they said. I 

dumped my dirty laundry and left, 

disgusted that a bank in my 

neighborhood got hit.

   I continued on my errands. 
   
Next stop: my bank, just a few 

blocks away. Just as I turned the 

corner, I noticed a police car, 

with its lights flashing, 

directly behind me. I thought: 

"He must want to pass me. I 

wasn't even speeding!" So I 

pulled over, out of his way. 

I was just a little surprised 

when he stopped behind me and 

got out.
               
   I rolled down my window and, 
   
just like in the movies I asked:

"What's the problem officer?" 

He told me the bank down the street 

had just been robbed and asked for 

my license. He asked me where I was

coming from and then told me I 

matched the description of the 

holdup man: glasses, mustache, 

and a tan coat! "I was just at 

the dry cleaners, they'll vouch 

for me." I said, holding up the 

receipt for my dirty laundry. 

"Would you please step outta the 

car," he answered. I was starting 

to think this was getting a little 

ridiculous when he told me to put 

my hands against the car as he 

proceeded to frisk me. The 

situation quickly moved from the 

ridiculous to the embarrassing.
            
            
   The policeman, misdiagnosing my 
   
emotions, offered me this: "if you
            
didn't do it, you have nothing to 

worry about." Only then did I begin

to wonder if I did have something 

to worry about!

   After the shakedown, he advised 
   
me to sit tight. They were bringing 

over a teller to ID me. So there 

I stood. Two police cars, two 

policemen, one disgusted citizen 

and a lot of rubberneckers. 

   Sensing my growing irritation 
   
the cop began to chitchat: "Ah, do

you work?" "Yeah, I work, I said in 

my most bravado-ladened tone. I was 

quite effective in reducing the 

conversation to a halt. 

   At last, a third police car 
   
pulled up. I was asked to stand in 

the middle of the street. I could 

see the teller as I heard the 

walkie talkie play. As she looked at 

me, it said: "Ah, negative" and 

off they drove. I was given my 

license back and with just a tad 

less dignity was allowed to leave.