Jeff’s Past: Doppelgänger, Local Jailbait
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.
But 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 out of 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 comical to embarrassing.
Right out of Dragnet, the policeman 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 policeman began to chitchat: “Uh, do you work?” “Yeah, I work,” I said in my most bravado-ladened tone. It was quite effective. The conversation came to a screeching 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 officers converse over the walkie-talkie. As the teller 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.