I seem to have this uncanny ability to be in the right place at the wrong time when it comes to run ins with officers of the law. There was the time a friend and I were in a car at about 2 AM while I whined about boy problems and a cop intercepted us because he thought we were "parking". I spent several minutes introducing him to my roommate and generally making an awkward scene with the door cracked because I panicked and forgot how to open the window.
Oh, and the time another roomie and I saved a guy after a mugging, called the cops and got questioned by a detective (!) who ended up not caring about us at all once he found out we didn't actually witness the mugging and only let the victim in to our apartment and gave him water and called his girlfriend. Whatever, detective. Being a good Samaritan is important, too.
Today began just as innocently as I got in line at a federal building in downtown Boston where my credit union is located. The line for the security check was longer than usual and with a huff I shuffled to the back. A man two in front of me stood out in the crowd. He was a rough dude, made more intimidating by the fact that he was loudly announcing that he was just out of jail again and would rather just stayed in another 6 months because he doesn't "do that parole shit" (pardon his language. . .)
Finally it was his turn at the security check and, within seconds, was in a verbal altercation with one of the security guards who heard Parolee call him a name. I generally assume security guards have a Napoleon Complex of sorts...which may be unfair, but whatever the case, this escalated pretty quickly.
Another security guard backed Napoleon up, and they started kicking Parolee out of the building. Shouting continued and the security guards changed their minds, telling Parolee to stay put and they were going to call the cops. Parolee and Napoleon got feisty and starting backing up toward me, arms being thrust and thrown about threateningly. I slowly backed into the marble column behind me, hoping a wayward first wouldn't meet my face.
Parolee decided he'd had enough and was leaving no matter what the security guards said, and made a dash for the exit with Napoleon and his buddy in hot pursuit.
At one point while ripping through the belted off area, the larger of the security guards got wrapped in the belt and was derailed while someone tried to help him. I tried not to laugh.
Much to Parolee's detriment no less than 5 police officers happened to be loitering right outside the federal building and were quickly hailed by Napoleon. Two other security guards resumed running the security. I was extra polite. I smiled and folded my jacket nicely
and waiting patiently until I was told to walk through the metal detector
Then, BEEP. I had set off the metal detector.
Rolling my eyes, I walked through and stepped aside to be have a hand wand check. I figured it was the decorative metal buckles on my shoes.
The guard directed me to hold on to the x-ray machine and lift one foot out of my shoe and then changed his mind
"Take off both your shoes," He said
"And put my feet on the floor?" I gaped at him in horror while clinging to the metal detector one leg shoe less, hovering, stork like, in the air.
Something told me this wasn't the best time to question him. In the wake of a testosterone infused altercation but, seriously, I don't know what's on that ground!
After a resigned sigh, he caved, letting me alternate shoes off,feet held aloft, away from the floor. Finally, I was cleared to go about my business.
Later, I stepped outside to find Parolee in handcuffs screaming at one if the 5 cops surrounding him. I ducked my head and hurried past. Then snapped a photo from across the street (I've taken the liberty of pointing out the fuzzy parole in handcuffs for you).
I would have stopped to get a closer view but the voice of reason from earlier won out, convincing me that snapping a photo of an arrest would cause more of a ruckus than the shoe debacle.
Darn, wouldn't I have loved to instagram that!
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