I had the biggest “blond moment” of my life today. And considering my hair’s basically black with mahogany highlights, that’s quite a feat. I am SO embarrassed.
I am a typically anal (or meticulous) person. Everything has its own little place and exact path to get there. I am the one who deals with the planning of whatever situation. The one with the mom purse equip with nail clippers, oil sheets, floss, tweezers, eye drops, allergy medicine…basically Walgreens. The one with a full change of clothes (including tennis shoes) in the trunk of her car, just in case I get stuck somewhere and really want clean underwear. The one who manually updates every album in her (large) iTunes library because she didn’t like some of the formatting. The one who cleans and separates the lettuce leafs so they’ll be easier to grab for a sandwich next week. The one that can tell you down to the hour when she was out of the office and how to code that time. For some reason, my brain is just wired that way. Apparently, within a four day span, that wiring got disconnected.
Because of a great ticket price, I took a 4-day weekend trip home last weekend. It was good to see the family and a couple of friends. However, the best part had to be not having to really think about much. I just kind of floated across Nashville for a few days in my mom’s green minivan. (I love the van by the way.) The paths to my grandmothers’ houses and Opry Mills mall are hardwired into my head. My biggest concern is trying to find my old radio stations. (Luckily, my mother doesn’t mess with her pre-set stations too much.)
My roommate picked me up from the airport last night and I unpacked my stuff, petted the puppies and went to bed. This morning, I woke up, got ready for work and rushed out the door. (I was going to be 5-10 minutes late to an 8:30 meeting.) I walked down the parking lot, happy it wasn’t raining. (Our parking lot is very crowded and it’s often difficult to find a spot close to your apartment and/or not under a tree. We also have a pigeon-poo problem.) As I approached the spot I remembered parking my car, I got a little concerned. The spot was empty. Hmmm, maybe it was in front of the next building. No? Okay, maybe I’m just losing it. Let’s press the lock button to hear my car. NOTHING! Seriously? Now what? I know I didn’t park this far but I’ll check. SHIT. WHERE’S MY CAR?!
Back in the apartment, upset but surprisingly calm for some reason. (That should have been my first hint. My subconscious must’ve known something. But I just assumed I was in shock.) Wake up the roommate. “I think they towed my car or someone stole it.” She jumps up and I turn on my computer. I don’t know my new boss’s work or cell phone number and I’m obviously going to miss the meeting. As I’m sending the email, my roommate goes to the front office.
Nope, while they were rude, they didn’t tow it. Okay, I guess it’s time to call the police. What’s the number? 911 seems a bit hysterical. My car wasn’t stolen with my baby in it or anything. (Just a gym bag) Yellow pages. Speak with a dispatcher. The police will be there soon. 15 minutes impressive (or scary. I don’t really know what a speedy response time says for your area.) Two police officers come to our door and we have to crate the dogs. So protective and LOUD.
Officer H is young and nervous/unprepared. While a few of his questions got on my nerves (No, my car was not impounded by the finance company. No, I haven’t defaulted on any payments. Yes, I’m sure. Would you like to see my monthly statements. — Remember, I am anal.), he was nice and I was patient and kind. No need to get him in trouble. Officer J was very cool. Although he was a bit rough (understandably so) on Officer H, he chatted it up with my roommate and I about dogs, catching a bank robber while buying dog food and what-have-you.
My phone rings and I hand it off to my roommate. She begins speaking Spanish and disappears into my room. Ah, it must be Chivis. Mary comes back around the corner and calls me into my room. What?! Really?! NOW,with them here?! Okay. Umm, Tiffany, I think your car is in the garage…. Are you SERIOUS? Are you sure? Could you check? Call me back! Thanks. Mary’s laughing at me. And the police are standing in our living room.
And then it all comes back to me….
The night before I left for home, I went out with friends and coworkers to celebrate J Lo’s birthday. (Not that one but better.) I had a few drinks but not THAT many. Chivis was parked closer to the bar than I was and since she was taking me to the airport the next morning, we just decided to leave my car in the office garage. Plus, it’s probably safer there than in my apartment complex parking lot….
Okay, it’s definitely a possibility but now what do I do? If I tell them, they’ll leave. Then what do I do if it’s not there? Call them back? No, continue until you’re sure. That’s the best idea. However, by the time Chivis calls me back, it’s too late. Despite my best efforts to stall and rush, I’ve had to complete the entire process. Poor Officer H is being chewed out and we’re laughing as soon as we close the door. What the HELL do I do NOW?!
Mary takes me to the office. Yep, I’ve seen it with my own eyes. My car is happily, safely sitting in the office garage. The parking I remembered doing in my complex lot was when I first made it home Friday night. I didn’t remember the second time because it never happened. Dear Lord, what was in my drinks? Did I have 8 more than I remembered?
After Chivis and Mary have made fun of me, I called to report my idiocy. Of course, I can’t just cancel a police report. Another officer has to talk to me. Officer B arrives shortly. He essentially laughs at me and tells me it happens all of the time downtown. Basically labeling me a drunk. Great! He’ll take care of it. All is well. Whew.
Not quite, Officer J calls me to double-check he’d heard right. After apologizing profusely for wasting his time and our Austin police resources, I get a mini lecture but feel better about the situation.
Then Officer J calls me back. I don’t quite remember asking what the point was but when I asked if there was anything else I needed to do, papers to sign, fee to pay, he told me that Officer H was considering charging me for reporting a false police report, a class b misdemeanor. WHAT?! He felt I had made the report to make fun of him, as if I knew him. Basically, his feelings were hurt for getting in trouble for being unprepared. And while I understand that, none of that was my fault. I did not make fun of him. I did not ask him the question Officer J wanted me to ask to test him. I was sympathetic and did not make a big deal of him not knowing what he was doing. Yes, I did laugh after they left at MYSELF. Yes, I did file a false report because I am an idiot. There was no malicious intent. Officer J says he’ll talk to Officer H but he can’t TELL him what to do, only advise. I thank Officer J and hang up. I should still be embarrassed or scared but now I’m just annoyed.
On to the google search for Class B Misdemeanor charges in Austin. (It’s amazing that blogs dominate the first pages in the gooogle search. I want REAL information, not a blog. This IS a legal matter after all.) From what I can gather (in a quick search), a charge of this kind can result in up to a $2,000 fine, up to 180 days in jail, or better yet both. This is the same charge you’d get for your first DWI. It looks like I should have just driven home that night. (I’m not condoning drunk driving. And while I don’t believe I was drunk that evening, I’m just making a point. Even if alchol had been a factor, I’d been sober for 4 days. No Corona is THAT strong.)
That’s it. I’ve heard nothing else from Officer J. I’m going to believe it’s over. I’ll update if I end up getting pulled over driving the car I mistakenly reported stolen.
I think the worst part of it all is that this is simply something I would not have done. Several friends have said this just isn’t me. Or at least it wasn’t. What’s next?
Still a bright red (only you can’t see it because I’m actually a milk chocolate brown),
Jo’van
The Truth: According to Jo'van 