Mysterious Police Evidence

Mysterious Police Evidence

 


 This site is a place to complain, but today I’m not going to—I know, I know—I’m such a rebel, aren’t I? On Monday, I wrote about my terrible year and how I hoped it would be better this year. I bitched and moaned about a few things—some of them serious and some of them not. And one of the things I complained about was getting pickpocketed.

That same day, I received a notice from the Police Department. I thought, ah great, another parking ticket, and tried to close my eyes when I opened the card so I wouldn’t have to see how much money I owed. When I was finally b rave enough to o pen my eyes, I saw that the Police had evidence in my name. I started fantasizing that somehow I was involved in a fascinating trial or that it was a case of mistaken identity.  I was wondering if I would be called in to testify about something.

 

It didn’t happen like that.

 

I went to the Police Station’s Evidence Room to pick up the Mysterious Evidence. I had to push a white button and wait outside for the officer to come. He came before I had the chance to ring the buzzer again. And took my post card and driver’s license and disappeared into the back room for what seemed like forever.

 

I saw two backpacks being thrown around the back room and started to worry because I didn’t recognize them. Was I being framed? Was this a set-up? Was there weird evidence in the room? Was there a weapon in one of the back-packs? Or lots and lots of weed? A bloody glove with an incriminating match somewhere else?

 

I tried to remain calm by stuffing three pieces of gum in my mouth. (As a former smoker, this is the only thing that works in the same way. And, no I don’t chew Nicorette .) He took what seemed like forever. I saw another officer—a black woman—moving around behind the glass. It was cold and I wanted to go home.

 

He came out with a form for me to sign— I had to sign a receipt for miscellaneous cards, a small woman’s purse, and a driver’s license. When he returned with my missing items—gone since May when my wallet/purse was stolen—it was kind of like Christmas . Of course, the cards were cancelled and the license was expired, but no one could use any of those cards to try and use my cards to pretend to be me.

My identity and my evidence were both safe.

I found old receipts stuffed in the various pockets of the wallet. I thanked the police officer and left and wondered if I was the usual kind of person to visit the Evidence Room.