This story is rather self-deprecating, and I know I really oughta just keep my yapper shut. But. It is mildly humorous. And against my better judgement, I’m gonna spill.
Cause that’s how I roll.
So. Went out at lunch today planning to do nothing more strenuous than catching up on my reading for the better part of the hour. It’s the first day this week that the sun was shining and it’s pleasantly mild.
I drive a few miles away from the office and park in a business parking lot that backs up against a large grassy field, bordered by woods. Peaceful.
Au contraire mon frere.
I look across the field and notice a car parked in the very back near the treeline. Since there’s no road to actually get out there, I thought that was a bit peculiar. Then I hearkened back to my youth and thought, ‘You know, it’s probably kids out there with no other place to go to … err … ya know.’ And I said to myself, ‘Girl, you just mind your own business.’
So I did.
After about 15 minutes, I look up from my book and I see the trunk pop open and someone is dragging something out of the trunk into the trees.
Looks to me now like two men, but it’s a bit o’distance away and I’m not swearing that under oath. They putz around a bit more, slam down the trunk and start driving oh so slowly across the field. At this point, I’m scrambling about, rummaging through my purse for a scrap of paper and pen.
Gawd love us moms who carry everything in their purses. In lieu of a pen, I could have written the information down in everything ranging from lip liner to eye liner to mascara or made a string sculpture out of dental floss. Worse case scenario, I could have carved the information into my dashboard with a pair of tweezers. Because I’m a good citizen. And good citizens would take one for the team.
But. I didn’t have to resort to extremes because every organized mom has a pen and paper. And I did.
As the car is driving towards me, I’m writing down the make and model, taking note of the bazillion bumper stickers, the dent in the passenger side front quarter panel. Y’all know I am so on the caper. However. Once the vehicle hits the parking lot pavement, they go quite a bit faster than my middle-aged eyes can keep up. So. I follow them.
Like any good detective would.
When they were briefly detained by the four-way stop sign, I took the opportunity to scribble down their license plate number. And now, when I tell ya’ll this, I am sayin’ it all serious like.
My hands were trembling. They were.
I know y’all are thinking, ‘what a pansy’. But as for me, I’m sitting in my soccer-mom van pondering, ‘Did I just witness someone dragging a dead body out of their car? Whatever will I wear to court?’ and finally, ‘What if it’s the Mob?’
Yeah. Tell me your hands wouldn’t be shaking.
I pulled into someone’s driveway and call the local police station. I prefaced my story by telling the dispatcher that it could be absolutely nothing, but might be worth a look-see. Just seemed a right bit suspicious to me. She tells me she’s sending out a patrol unit and asks if I can wait ‘on the scene’.
How exciting?! My whole body is practically twitching.
Less than five minutes later the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen drives up in a black police car. I know this has no particular relevance to the story … but the patrolman was fine.
He asks me what I saw, I point out to the field in the approximate location of the alleged crime, and he drives out to investigate. Did I mention he was really cute? Cute coming, cute going.
Anyway, I do have to digress here a moment because the question begs to be asked … are all patrolmen told to be as stoic as possible when going about their business? This guy reminded me of the time … okay, one of the times … I was stopped for a speeding ticket. I was pregnant with second son, and the young officer wouldn’t move up to my side window when he pulled me over. He stood slightly over my left shoulder the entire time, just out of my range of vision. Being well advanced in my pregnancy I was terribly hormonal and more than a slight bit cranky. It took every fiber of my being to restrain myself from asking him if he figured I was hiding a curvy round gun under my maternity tent. But I didn’t. Which, in retrospect, was probably a pretty smart move.
Anyway. Where was I? Ahhh. Stoic. The officer today and the officer then never cracked a smile. Just think how much happier they’d be if they just learned to grin a bit?
So ten minutes later the officer drives back across the field and pulls up next to my van. He tells me yes, he found something. Oh my.
A box of lawn clippings.
I’m sorry. A what?
I just wasted 30 minutes of my lunch hour trying to solve the
‘Mystery of the Dead-and-Discarded Grass’?!?
In addition to my lack of math skillz, I obviously have absolutely no detective skillz either. Shameful really.