Weird Story By Laban Pheidas

In my entire life this is definitely one of the best feelings I’ve ever had: It was around seven or so in the evening, and I was sitting on a bus bench in front of my apartment with my friend Dave. We were minding our own business, just chatting amongst ourselves, when, you guessed it, a cop rolled up in his car. The officer, we’ll call him “Fat Ass,” got out and told me to pick up a bottle that was underneath the bench and throw it away. I looked underneath the bench and saw the brown-bagged 40 bottle he was refering to. I told him it wasn’t mine, and that if he wanted it in the the trash so bad, why couldn’t he just do it himself? He seemed to get agitated by this remark. I furthered my statement by saying that it’s much better for the environment to recycle glass and paper at the local recycling bins. This for some reason made him very angry–which I find odd since everyone knows recycling is a good thing.

Fat Ass then told me if I didn’t do what he said, he was gonna take me to jail right on the spot. I said, “For what?”

He said, “For drinking in public.”

I said, “But I’m not drinking in public.”

He said, “I don’t care.”

I was stuck. I didn’t want to go anywhere with this asshole, let alone to jail. So I reluctantly did as he ordered. Fat Ass was even nice enough to escort me the whole way to the corner where the trash can was. He furthered his personal-power-trip quota for the day by making me pour the contents out of the bottle before I tossed it. I was really beginning to hate this guy. I tried to ignore his last meaningless words of crap before he finally left.

Needless to say, I was very upset at what had just happened. I knew there had to be some way to get back at that cop and prove that he was a borderline-retarded idiot. Suddenly, I had an idea. Dave and I went to the convenience store down the street, and I bought myself a 32-ounce container of orange juice. I asked the friendly Pakistani behind the counter if he could be so kind as to brown-bag it. He said, “Sure, not a problem.”

So, we walked back to the same bus bench as before and sat back down. Armed with my secret weapon, we patiently waited for the cop to drive back by. Sure enough, about five minutes later, he did. I took a quick drink, and then placed the container underneath the bench and behind my legs as if I were trying to hide it. Although I purposely didn’t make eye contact with him, I knew he witnesed the whole thing. He drove on by and around the corner. I knew it wouldn’t be long before he returned to the scene of the crime. We held our positions.

Approximately two minutes later he came back, and this time there were two police cars. Yes, this was perfect. Not only did he fall for the bait–hook, line, and sinker–but he brought backup, too. This time I conveniently had the brown-bagged container sitting in plain view on my lap. They got out of their cars, and Fat Ass wobbled over to me as fast as he could. With confidence and authority, he told me that I was going straight to jail. I knew at that moment I had him.

I looked up with an innocent little smile and replied, “For what, officer? Can’t I have a chat with a friend while drinking some orange juice?”

He grabbed the drink out of my hand and opened it. He smelled the orange juice, poured some out, and smelled it again to double check. No matter what he did at that point, he could only look like the biggest idiot in the whole entire world. Even the backup officer who wittnessed the whole thing got completely embarrassed and humiliated. There was nothing they could do, and seeing their expressions was worth more than gold. Without another word, they got back into their cars and drove off.

I claimed hero status that night. I was a true champion. I accomplished something that is nearly impossilbe in today’s society– getting even with an officer of the law, legally. And although it was just a small tidbit in the war against cops, to me, it was still a grreat one.