"I don't want to watch Danny Tamborelli sleep tonight," I said to the girl. I didn't know her, but Danny Tamborelli was going to sleep on her couch.
"Don't you want to ask Danny Tamborelli about
all the times he got slimed on 'Figure it out?'!" Jon was excited. Jon
wanted to make friends.
"I was always so jealous of him as a kid," I said, trying to ring out
the parts of my dress Jon had spilled his cheap beer on, "I wanted to
get slimed really bad. I think slime was pudding. I wanted to eat the
"Yeah! So lets hang out with him!" Jon said.
"And watch him sleep!" the girl said.
Why did this girl want me to watch Danny Tamborelli sleep?
don't want to make friends with Danny Tamborelli. He was a childhood
hero, now look at him," I turned my head around and a girl my age was
getting her picture taken with Danny Tamborelli, "I would hang out with him if he was still 10 years old, but he's
all fat and sweaty and grown up now, and Jon and I were the only people
dancing when his band was playing. It will be weird. I don't want to
make friends with Danny Tamborelli."
It was settled. Jon and I got in my car. "I can't believe you don't want to hang out with Danny Tamborelli."
cop pulls us over a mile away from my house. I had forgotten about the
speed trap right as you are entering Kent, where there is a strip of
about 15 feet where the speed limit dips from 45 to 35 with no warning.
Jon and I look at each other, "Fuck."
The cop asks me if I've had anything to drink, "A glass of wine," I say.
"What was that?"
"Step out of the car."
The cop began waving a pen around in front of my eyes, "Don't look away from the tip of this pen."
The tip of the pen was the same color as the 2 a.m. sky. The tip of the pen was very hard to see.
"My eyes are getting really dry," I said.
"Oh. Sorry. You're allowed to blink."
A satellite cop was watching from five feet away.
He made me
stand on one foot. I kept thinking of myself as a circus elephant. I
noticed the weathered acne scars on the cop's cheeks.
The shoes I was wearing were gladiator sandals which are too large for my feet, extending over an inch past my toes.
I tripped over them while doing the "heel-to-toe" walk.
I blew. There was no reading. "You're not blowing hard enough," the cop said.
I blew again with no reading. "You have to blow harder."
He was being a very nice cop. He kept looking at my dress. The cop
probably wanted to wear my dress. He was being so kind. I kept thinking
"This is a really kind cop," in between repetitively thinking "Fuck
My thought pattern looked like this: Fuck cops. This is a nice cop. Kill
fucking cops. He is surprisingly respectful. Fuck pigs. He is looking
at my dress some more. Fucking police. Fuck the police."
I blew again and ran out of breath. "You got it," the cop said, "You blew a .139."
"Oh, this blows," I said.
"Are you even buzzed right now?" the cop said.
"No, I feel scared."
"I have to arrest you... I'm going to have to put handcuffs on you."
He opened the door to his cop car and helped me to sit in it. He looked at my dress.
He went over to my car and grabbed my bag out of it, "Do you mind if I search your purse?"
"Sure, go ahead if you need to I guess."
I watched him shine his
flashlight into my bad and remembered all the pills in there that were
definitely not prescribed in my name. Two Vicodin in my wallet. A small
glittery pill box which reads "Drugs" in fancy cursive across the lid,
containing one 30 mg Adderall, a Ritalin, and a Xanax. I cringed and
imagined the next 3 to 5 years of my life wearing an orange jumpsuit,
sitting in prison.
I had accepted my fate when the cop opened the door and handed me the bag, "Here's your purse back."
He didn't find the drugs. Nice cop. Stupid cop.
"Do you mind if I drive your car over into that bank parking lot so you don't have to get towed?"
What a nice cop. Fucking pigs. A cop is driving my car to the bank. A
pig is maneuvering my car towards a building filled with money. I am
being arrested for drunk driving.
The officer gets back in his own car. He turns around and looks at me, "Why does it smell so strongly in your car?"
What is he trying to say? That my car reeks of booze? "It could be the
beer my friend spilled on me, or just my friend in general, he's really
"No," the cop says, "I mean, you have garlic hanging from your rear view mirror. What is with that? Garlic! That's disgusting!"
"Oh, I love garlic."
"No, man, no," he turns to look back at me and the acne scars stretch out from his neck to his cheekbone. He looks like a rubber mask.
"Oh, yea, I love it."
"I love garlic."
Acne cop does a u-turn and
almost immediately turns right into a cemetery. A nice cop with acne
scars in driving a small blonde girl in a nice dress through a cemetery
at 2 in the morning.
I look at the gravestones passing by, "Why are you driving through a graveyard?"
"I'm not trying to scare ya or anything, this is the way to the station, honest, not trying to scare ya."
He makes some sloppy turns then says, "I think a took a wrong turn. Not trying to scare ya or anything."
We arrive at the station. The cop opens the opposite back door and reaches for my bag. "Oh, I've got it," I say.
He comes around to let me out of the car and escorts me into the station.
station is very plain and ugly. The satellite cop from before is
already inside, standing around, doing nothing, maybe eating a doughnut.
The kind acne scar cop takes the handcuffs off of me and asks me to set
my purse up on the counter. This scares me, there are pills in my bag.
He has me sit in the drunk tank.
drunk tank is small and plain and dirty, made out of cinder blocks and
lined with a wood bench. In one corner a pair of handcuffs is screwed to
the wall. It is Sunday night. I am the only person there. Thank God.
I cannot see my bag from the drunk tank. This makes me paranoid. There are pills in that bag.
sit in the doorless cell for maybe 15 minutes before the acne cop calls
out, "How many wine coolers did you really have, Lily?"
"One," I say.
Fucking pigs. I said wine, not wine cooler. Fuck you, pig! What does he think I am, a soccer mom? Mind your own business, pig!
"Come out here, Lily."
The cop makes me do another breathalyzer, then tells me to sit back down in the drunk tank.
The phone in the station rings. I cannot see the phone.
"Hello? Hey! Lieutenant! How is your vacation? How's Hawaii?" I hear the acne cop answer the phone.
The acne cop laughs, "Lieutenant, are you drunk? You're prank calling the station? You're wasted, Lieutenant!"
The Lieutenant, the boss of the pigs, is on vacation, placing a long
distance call from Hawaii, a long distance prank call to his
subordinates, while wasted. He is probably laying on a beach. In some
mud. Eating a doughnut.
"No, nobody wants to talk to you," the nice acne cop says into the
phone, then calls out, "Hey, Bacardi! You wanna talk to the Lieutenant?"
"Hell no," Bacardi, the satellite cop, walks past the drunk tank door, into the main room with the phone.
"No, Bacardi doesn't want to talk to you," then he yells, "Hey, Lily! Do
you wanna talk to my boss?" and he starts laughing again.
"Maybe," I call out.
"Maybe! She said maybe!" he laughs into the phone, "See, nobody wants to
talk to you. No, she doesn't really want to talk to you."
The phone call ends.
"You can come out again, Lily. Here's your purse. Do you have anyone who can pick you up?"
The cop gives me a ride home. On the way he asks typical "nice to meet
you questions": What are you studying, do you like it, where do you
I try to ask him what court will be like. He won't tell me anything.
Every time he turns to look back at me, his acne scars stretch out.
"That is my door, right there," I say, "The big one that is wide open."
He lets me out.
"Thanks for the ride."