Cops are the nicest guys

I've only had two cop run ins in my 21 years of living.

One of them I won't talk about.

The second one happened one night freshman year. My friends and I were out at the notorious underage bar called the Border and, close to last call, began chatting with a buddy of ours, a super-senior-frat-boy who still lived in the fraternity house, which happened to be close to the bar and had a huge kitchen of endless 2 a.m. possibilities.

(I’m notorious for many things, one of them being drunk-munchies).

We schmoozed and schmoozed and finally convinced him we could make a delectable dish if he gave us access to the fraternity’s kitchen. So the four of us went back to the house and he let us in.

We made an assortment of delicious food, everything from nachos with half-melted cheese to chicken, tuna and refried bean casserole. (Disclaimer: we were inebriated).

After dinner, one of my friends disappeared upstairs and the other one meandered to her boyfriend’s room, who also happened to live in the fraternity. With both of my friends off on sexual escapades, I was left with super-senior and a messy kitchen.

Ignoring the messy kitchen like a great house guest, we went into the living room where he drunkenly offered me the sofa to sleep. I was too tired to treck all the way back to my freshman dorm, so I took him up on the offer.

I was about to fall asleep when super-senior boy crawled on top of me. Freaking out, I shut my eyes and pretended to be asleep. Thank goodness he was so drunk that it only took seconds before he began loudly snoring in my ear.

Once I was sure he was good and asleep, I crawled out from under him and snuck out the front door.

It was about 2:50 a.m., and I was halfway home when a cop rolled up next to me.

“Where are you going?!” he yelled.

Umm…home!!!

Now I was not that menacing looking, for the record. I recall wearing a cute girly dress with leggings and Uggs and I was carrying a small purse, not a duffel bag of coke.

“I’ll give you a ride, a girl your age shouldn’t be wandering out here alone at this hour,” said the cop. Eager to not have to finish the journey home by foot, I accepted the nice police officer’s offer and got in the front seat.

Before I could buckle up, he gunned it down the street, ran a red light to turn onto University and went from 0 to 60 in a matter of half a block.

I slid back and forth on the slippery, leather seat, trying hard not to slide into the officer or go flying through the windshield. As I tried to stabilize myself, the officer (who wasn’t noticing my struggle), lectured me on what a dangerous neighborhood we lived in and how people get raped and molested and murdered in dark alleyways 100% of the time and how mobsters are waiting around every corner to kidnap me and sell me into the sex slave.

I nodded and agreed as I held on for dear life until Officer Drives-Worse-than-a-Woman dropped me off in front of my freshman dorm.

I never willingly accepted a ride from a police officer again.

Disclaimer: the last line was sarcasm.

Another disclaimer: I’m a woman, so I’m allowed to make fun of woman drivers. Which I do often.