I hate Americans
On a skydiving holiday in California, I decided to take a walk away from the dropzone for a change of scenery. A baking hot day, I used my t shirt as a hat, half exposing my mohican (a 'rare' haircut out there, so I was told by a few bemused yanks)
Innocently walking down a deserted dirt track, I'm somewhat surprised when the law show up, search and cuff me, take my camera and chuck me in the back of a sweaty black cop car, no reasons given. Sitting on my handcuffs, we drive a few hundred yards to a garden centre, where the cop gets out and talks to the manager who's looking at me and nodding. He finally comes over to the car and says
'you're going down unless you tell us where your buddy is'
Buddy?
'The manager here says he saw you and your buddy dump a stolen pick up truck outside his store and run away'
'I didn't steal any pick up truck'
'I didn't say it was a pick up truck'
Then this other bloke from the store comes out, looks at me through the glass and says 'Yeah that's the dude. That's him'

Two positive id's and a cop who thinks he's clever. My doppelganger and his 'buddy' have disappeared. I'm doomed. A helicopter buzzing around looking for my 'buddy' is scaring the shit out of student parachutists dropping out the sky. I'm sweating buckets sitting on my handcuffed wrists for over an hour with a t shirt on my head.

How it turned round I don't know, maybe they found my 'buddy', or they found the only other person with a mohawk in that part of California. Either way I never got an apology, or my crap camera back. Did get presented with a pair of fluffy handcuffs at my club's award ceremony though...
(dustydisturbed, Thu 21 Apr 2005, 12:01, Reply)