I come back to my apartment after leaving for the weekend to see a business card stuck in the door with a police officer’s name on it. I have no idea what this is for. This sucks, i hope this doesn’t affect my ability to get a job (a criminal record).
I wouldn’t worry too much about it. Since you didn’t mention it, I’m assuming there was no message on the voicemail. If they’re looking for you - either for an arrest or to pass on bad news, I don’t think the cops would be likely to leave a card behind.
Do you live in an apartment building? Maybe there was a break in or something. I hope all goes well.
BTW, criminal record?
The Calculus of Logic, this reminds me of something that happened to me. One day after coming home from work, there was a message on my answering machine. The voice was very low and indistinct, and I couldn’t make out anything except bits of the phone number the person left. After listening to it 30 times, I finally figured out what the number was within a digit. So I called a number, subbing in a “1” for the missing digit. Disconnected number. I try a “2” and get the warrant division of the sheriff’s office. I tell the person who answered the phone about the message and how maybe someone from their office called me. He asks me to play the message for him and I do: it turns out that he was the one who called.
The officer explains that he was processing warrants, calling people with outstanding warrants(!), and that’s why he called me. Great. The sheriff’s looking for me. Do I have a warrant out for my arrest? Did I get a parking ticket that blew off my car or something? Did somebody call the cops about me and say I was a child molester? Are they going to arrest me at the grocery store and haul me out in chains?
The officer then asks me my name. Sounds of papers being ruffled. “Hmm, Mr. Hand, I don’t seem to see anything about you on my desk. It’s probably nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
Don’t worry about it! Sure, I’ll just go about my business until the swat team busts down the door to catch the “fugitive.”
I ask him if there’s any way he can search his computer to see if there’s a warrant out for my arrest. “Well…” Long silence. “Hmmm.” Pause. “I guess you could call ____ and ask her.” He gives me a phone number and then says he’s got to go. I call the other number and have them run a search on my drivers’ license. Nothing. At least, nothing in this county. So maybe I’m on the 10 Most Wanted List for the FBI, but at least Screwball, Texas doesn’t want to lock me up and throw away the key.
I call back the first guy from the Warrant Office. Finally, he explains that he’s going through old warrants, from before I lived in the area. I guess it was somebody who used to have my telephone number… or was he just trying to lull me into a false sense of security?
Nevermind. Someone broke into my truck and stole my textbooks. THe cop caught the guy and wanted me to go to the station to pick them up. So i will go tomorrow morning.
THOSE BASTARDS! I can’t believe they would do this do you! I hate cops, they’re always trying to F*** you over every time you turn your back. You should sue!
So, uh, bless the law now?
Foot-in-mouth disease strikes again! Dun dun duuuuun!
Ought to go have a chat with that nice young man in the pit.
I remember being quite surprised to find a police officer’s card on my front door once. It turned out that there had been a 911 call and hangup next door, and the police got the address wrong… they had actually entered my house through my (shamefully) unlocked back door, before the confusion over the address was corrected; they had just wanted to let me know that they had been inside the house and apologize.
I hadn’t done dishes for a few days at that point, and my first reaction was embarrassment that the cop had seen a stack of unwashed dishes in the kitchen!