High School Crap: The Roadblock, Pt. 2

We didn't see the roadblock until we were already in it -- just a couple of minutes after the mooning. I guess that's the point of a well placed roadblock: to catch unsuspecting criminals. But, barring a citywide alert for four pale asses, we had nothing to fear. We hadn't been drinking, of course, and I had no contraband in the Jetta. So I figured our encounter with the policeman would be a quick, you-kids-stay-out-of-trouble kind of transaction.

The line was pretty short, and soon enough Daniel, driving ahead of us, was through. I was up. I rolled down the window and smiled at the uniformed gentleman with the flashlight.

His moustachioed face expressed concern and perturbance.

"Oh shit," I said in my head. Not merely because of his reaction. But because I had realized the likely source of his reaction. Back in those days, I kept a hat in my glove compartment that I would wear from time to time when causing similarly good-natured mischief. It was a black baseball cap with the word "BITCH" written in large, white block letters on the front.

I had forgotten I was wearing this hat.

However, while this most certainly contributed to the policeman's concern (after all, while it's not illegal to wear such a hat at a roadblock, it is probably regarded as uncouth), it turned out there was a more pressing issue at hand.

"Son," he said, "why're your pants unzipped?"

Oh. Shit.

I had another couple of revelations: first, as we had fled from the scene of the mooning, I had failed to properly fasten my pants, leaving the zipper and button totally and visibly open. Which is, in itself, embarrassing. However, I had a second revelation as well. Sitting next to me in the passenger seat was my friend, Trixie. And the juxtaposition of my unzipped pants in the driver's seat and the fellow -- and very female -- teen in the next seat was undoubtedly ... suspicious.

Not to mention the fact that Justin B. was in the back seat. Which just makes it look extra weird.

So, I had to come up with a way to explain away all these suspicions and also answer in a straightforward and sensible way so that we could just get the hell out of there.

Thus, I said, "Oh, I was in a hurry to leave the house."

So that was my explanation. I was so rushed to leave my house that I didn't even bother to zip up my pants. And yet I somehow had time to put on a hat that screams "BITCH."

Thankfully the officer didn't point out the obvious falsehood of my claim. Instead, he followed his line of inquiry to the next logical step.

He pointed at Trixie. "This your girlfriend?" he asked.

"Oh, no," I said. "Just a friend."

I have the feeling our friendly officer decided, at this point, to just get us the hell out of his roadblock. Clearly, something was going on. But nothing illegal. I wasn't drunk, I was just an idiot naturally.

I'm afraid I don't remember exactly what he said, but he told us we could go. And we were more than happy to oblige.

As we drove off, I zipped up my pants. We eventually caught up with Daniel and the people in his car. On our way back, we knocked over a few garbage cans.