When I was in high school, I was a real shit. Did all sorts of stuff I’m not at all proud of. The worst that I got caught for though…
I and three of my fellow reptilian brained teenaged goofs decided to blow off some steam after our first semester finals. Specifically, the plan was to blow some shit up.
We made attempts to buy gunpowder at the local gunshops, but they just looked at our fake ID’s and laughed at us. So we decide to make a bomb with the materials we had on hand.
So it was that we found ourselves in a large vacant lot at the outskirts of town, just off the road, cutting open leftover fireworks and prying open .22 shells by flashlight and dumping the contents into a mason jar in the trunk of my buddy’s car. Then we threw in a few intact shells for good measure, inserted the fuse, and capped the jar.
Then we see the headlights. We freeze, hoping whoever it is will just drive by. The car screeches to a halt right in front of us (here I slam the trunk shut), and the cops jump out and crouch behind the doors.
“This is the police! Keep your hands where we can see them!”
So they seached us, emptied our pockets (pocket knives, fake IDs), bawled us out for the bomb, then confiscated our pyrotechnics and the flat of 30 eggs that also happened to be in the trunk. Gave us back our knives and bad ID.
Since this was in the pre-Columbine days of yore, they accepted our explanation that we had only intended to blow up a tree stump. No arrests, no phone calls to our parents, they just made us pick up the mess of fireworks wrappers and other paraphenalia we’d dropped on the frozen ground. I guess they were just glad we weren’t doing anything dangerous like smoking weed. :rolleyes:
Before we were formally introduced with the IDs and all, the cops referred to one of my friends as “redcoat” on account of his vividly coloured Gore-Tex.
eg: “One at a time, step to the patrol car, slowly empty your pockets, then place both your hands on the hood. Redcoat, you first.”
So of course, that was his nickname forevermore. But when I saw him again on Monday, he was wearing a new jacket.
“The old one’s ruined.”, he said. “Remember when they made us pick up all that garbage? One of the things I picked up turned out to be a frozen dog turd. It thawed in my pocket overnight.”
Friends, that wasn’t the dumbest stunt we pulled that night, just the one we got caught on.
Much more recently, just a couple months ago, I stole a sign off the works yard at a local park. It was kind of a favour for a friend. I strapped it to the back seat of my motorcyle, headed for home, and was promptly stopped at a drinking-driving roadblock. At that point I know I’m caught; there’s no room to turn around, no way to hide the incriminating evidence.
And incriminating it was. Here’s this aluminum sign, with the bolts and freshly cut ends of fence-wire still attached, and peek at the underside and you see “No Trespasssing” and “Property of Smalltown Parks and Rec.”
Officer says, “Have you been drinking tonight?”
Me, “No, sir.”
“Do you have a valid class 6 [motorcycle driver’s] licence?”
“Alright, you can go.”
How he missed it I’ll never know.