Stupid human tricks
Aug. 10th, 2005 05:21 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
gwywnnyddMany of you have heard me tell this story. But I wanted to get it down on paper, for posterity. It's too good a story to be lost.
OK, many years ago, I had a friend. His name was Blake. Blake was, against all appearances, very intelligent. He just lacked the common sense that God gave an earthworm. He'd do boneheaded shit, like be walking down Broadway and, when approached by a *stranger* asking if he knew where pot could be acquired, would reply with "Yeah, come to my place, I'll sell you some." Not too quick, that boy.
So, Blake needed a job. His background was in construction, as a framer.
He needed wheels, in order to get a job. See, he wasn't union, and all the construction jobs inside the city (i.e. where the busses ran) were union gigs. And no place outside the city would hire someone who didn't have their own transportation, since they wouldn't be reliable. So, he needed a job, and in order to get a job he needed wheels. Of course, in order to get wheels, he needed a job, but this was a minor detail, that he was sure he could overcome.
He ends up getting his hands on a beater motorcycle, and borrows the money to get it running from his new girlfriend (they'd known each other for three weeks at the time). He inisists that, once he gets the bike running, he'll have a job the next day. We didn't believe him, but he was fun to watch. So, he gets teh bike fixed, and gets a job *that day*, to start the next morning. We are, to say the least, stunned.
OK, it's the next morning. Blake is on his way in to work. He gets pissed at the car in front of him on the freeway, because they're going the speed limit, and HOW DARE THEY GO THE SPEED LIMIT IN THE *FAST* LANE, HUH!?!
So he starts tailgating. At 55. On a motorcycle. Driver of the car in front finally changes lanes to the right. Blake speeds up to pass, and as he's passing he glances over, and sees the bubble on the dash. It's a cop.
Blake has four thoughts in quick succession:
A) I'm driving on a suspended license.
B) I'm driving a bike that has stolen plates.
C) I'm wanted in three states (ME, MA, and FL).
D) It would be a Bad Thing (tm) for me to get pulled over.
So he decides to run. On I5. Through Downtown Seattle. yeah, not too quick.
So he's zipping along, and decides he's going to get off the freeway, and lose himself in the sidestreets (note: This can be done, I was a passenger in a car that once pulled it off. The driver must be very skilled, know the area *really* well, and have a bit of luck that the pursuing officer does not know the area that well. So, can be done, but it's not very likely). Blake never got a chance to try, because as he's accelerating up the off-ramp, the bike (remember, the bike he just got running last night) hits 90, and dies. Ker-splat.
The cops come up, scrape Blake off the pavement, and take him to Harborview. On the way, they get his name, his current address, and the fact that he doesn't have a WA driver's license out of him. He's bumped and bruised and has a mild concussion. Then, the cops leave him alone in the exam room. No idea why, but he takes the opportunity handed to him, and bolts. Makes it across the street, into the Yesler Projects, and is safe. No one there is going to assist the police, for any reason.
He heads right back home.
Meanwhile, his roommate has been awoken by the police officers looking for Blake. Yes, he gave his real address. The apartment where he and his roomie have been a) dealing pot, b) dealing meth, and c) growing pot. No officer, he's not here, no, you *can't* come in, believe me, if he comes back he's toast.
Blake shows up at home, and is offended, OFFENDED I SAY! at being told "You brought the cops here, not cool, GO. AWAY." He goes away, in a sulk.
Comes back next day. In the meantime, the nice officers have returned, and have casually mentioned that if he happens to be found in the house, everyone present at the time could (and would) be arrested for harboring a fugitive. Blake is told "We like you, we don't like you enough to go to JAIL for you. GO. AWAY." He is pissy, but leaves.
And returns the next day. Same message, same response.
Day three, repeat of day two.
Day four, he and his girlfriend have decided they are going to go to Canada, and live with her folks in Saskatchewan. Otay, whatever. Give me a call when you get there, call collect if you have to, just let me know you made it okay.
Time passes.
One day, I get a collect call, from Blake.
"Hi Blake, where are you calling from?" (I'm trying to ascertain if I'm looking at domestic inter-state collect tolls, or international)
"Prison."
"You fucked up, didn't you Blake."
"No!"
"Blake, where are you calling from?"
"Prison."
"You fucked up, didn't you Blake."
"*No!*"
"Blake, *where* are you *calling from*?"
"Prison."
"Right. And in order to get there, you had to have fucked up somewhere, right?"
"Well, I guess."
"Okay, now that we've gotten that out of the way, *how* did you fuck up?"
Turns out that He and his girlfriend decide to travel from Seattle to Saskatchewan via Maine. No, I don't know why. Maine, which is one of the (now) four states he's wanted in. And they stayed with his parents. At his last known address, in a state he's wanted in. Yeah.
And somehow it is decided that she will go on ahead to Saskatchewan, and set up housekeeping, while he stays behind, works under the table, and saves up money. [note: the saving part was particulalry amusing to me, since Blake holds/held onto money like a sieve holds water]
Oooookaaaay.
And then, Blake somehow gets it in his head that his girlfriend is incapable of crossing the border and locating a bus station on her own, so he decides he's going to a) cross over with her, and see her onto a bus, b) cross back and stay for a while, and c) cross a third time when he's saved up some money.
Blake insists, to this day AFAIK, that there was no reason for the Canadian border guard to run his name through the national database. I don't believe him. I know him, I think he said or did something stupid, that attracted their attention. In any event, he was turned back from Canada. "Oh look, you're wanted in four states, including the one yuou're attempting to leave. We think you're trying to run from you warrants, and we don't want you. Go back."
Blake insists, to this day AFAIK, that there was no reason for the American border guard to run his name through the national database. I don't believe him. I think watching him be turned back would be considered 'Probable Cause'. In any event, "Oh look, you're wanted in four states, including the one you're attempting to enter. Thank you *so* much for turning yourself in. You're under arrest."
Blake was wanted in Maine for multiple 'Driving on a Suspended License' violations. He was sentenced to 6 months.
He served 11.
First he got a couple extra months tacked on for fighting. This was mostly expected, we recognized he needed to establish his place in the pecking order. Then, he managed to get on a work-release program (no clue how he pulled that one off, but it did afford him the occasional opportunity to slip away andget laid see his girlfriend). He was removed from that when he was caught smuggling pot back into the jail.
And his girlfriend (remember her?) was waiting for him when he got out. Last I knew, they were still together. No, I don't know why.
OK, many years ago, I had a friend. His name was Blake. Blake was, against all appearances, very intelligent. He just lacked the common sense that God gave an earthworm. He'd do boneheaded shit, like be walking down Broadway and, when approached by a *stranger* asking if he knew where pot could be acquired, would reply with "Yeah, come to my place, I'll sell you some." Not too quick, that boy.
So, Blake needed a job. His background was in construction, as a framer.
He needed wheels, in order to get a job. See, he wasn't union, and all the construction jobs inside the city (i.e. where the busses ran) were union gigs. And no place outside the city would hire someone who didn't have their own transportation, since they wouldn't be reliable. So, he needed a job, and in order to get a job he needed wheels. Of course, in order to get wheels, he needed a job, but this was a minor detail, that he was sure he could overcome.
He ends up getting his hands on a beater motorcycle, and borrows the money to get it running from his new girlfriend (they'd known each other for three weeks at the time). He inisists that, once he gets the bike running, he'll have a job the next day. We didn't believe him, but he was fun to watch. So, he gets teh bike fixed, and gets a job *that day*, to start the next morning. We are, to say the least, stunned.
OK, it's the next morning. Blake is on his way in to work. He gets pissed at the car in front of him on the freeway, because they're going the speed limit, and HOW DARE THEY GO THE SPEED LIMIT IN THE *FAST* LANE, HUH!?!
So he starts tailgating. At 55. On a motorcycle. Driver of the car in front finally changes lanes to the right. Blake speeds up to pass, and as he's passing he glances over, and sees the bubble on the dash. It's a cop.
Blake has four thoughts in quick succession:
A) I'm driving on a suspended license.
B) I'm driving a bike that has stolen plates.
C) I'm wanted in three states (ME, MA, and FL).
D) It would be a Bad Thing (tm) for me to get pulled over.
So he decides to run. On I5. Through Downtown Seattle. yeah, not too quick.
So he's zipping along, and decides he's going to get off the freeway, and lose himself in the sidestreets (note: This can be done, I was a passenger in a car that once pulled it off. The driver must be very skilled, know the area *really* well, and have a bit of luck that the pursuing officer does not know the area that well. So, can be done, but it's not very likely). Blake never got a chance to try, because as he's accelerating up the off-ramp, the bike (remember, the bike he just got running last night) hits 90, and dies. Ker-splat.
The cops come up, scrape Blake off the pavement, and take him to Harborview. On the way, they get his name, his current address, and the fact that he doesn't have a WA driver's license out of him. He's bumped and bruised and has a mild concussion. Then, the cops leave him alone in the exam room. No idea why, but he takes the opportunity handed to him, and bolts. Makes it across the street, into the Yesler Projects, and is safe. No one there is going to assist the police, for any reason.
He heads right back home.
Meanwhile, his roommate has been awoken by the police officers looking for Blake. Yes, he gave his real address. The apartment where he and his roomie have been a) dealing pot, b) dealing meth, and c) growing pot. No officer, he's not here, no, you *can't* come in, believe me, if he comes back he's toast.
Blake shows up at home, and is offended, OFFENDED I SAY! at being told "You brought the cops here, not cool, GO. AWAY." He goes away, in a sulk.
Comes back next day. In the meantime, the nice officers have returned, and have casually mentioned that if he happens to be found in the house, everyone present at the time could (and would) be arrested for harboring a fugitive. Blake is told "We like you, we don't like you enough to go to JAIL for you. GO. AWAY." He is pissy, but leaves.
And returns the next day. Same message, same response.
Day three, repeat of day two.
Day four, he and his girlfriend have decided they are going to go to Canada, and live with her folks in Saskatchewan. Otay, whatever. Give me a call when you get there, call collect if you have to, just let me know you made it okay.
Time passes.
One day, I get a collect call, from Blake.
"Hi Blake, where are you calling from?" (I'm trying to ascertain if I'm looking at domestic inter-state collect tolls, or international)
"Prison."
"You fucked up, didn't you Blake."
"No!"
"Blake, where are you calling from?"
"Prison."
"You fucked up, didn't you Blake."
"*No!*"
"Blake, *where* are you *calling from*?"
"Prison."
"Right. And in order to get there, you had to have fucked up somewhere, right?"
"Well, I guess."
"Okay, now that we've gotten that out of the way, *how* did you fuck up?"
Turns out that He and his girlfriend decide to travel from Seattle to Saskatchewan via Maine. No, I don't know why. Maine, which is one of the (now) four states he's wanted in. And they stayed with his parents. At his last known address, in a state he's wanted in. Yeah.
And somehow it is decided that she will go on ahead to Saskatchewan, and set up housekeeping, while he stays behind, works under the table, and saves up money. [note: the saving part was particulalry amusing to me, since Blake holds/held onto money like a sieve holds water]
Oooookaaaay.
And then, Blake somehow gets it in his head that his girlfriend is incapable of crossing the border and locating a bus station on her own, so he decides he's going to a) cross over with her, and see her onto a bus, b) cross back and stay for a while, and c) cross a third time when he's saved up some money.
Blake insists, to this day AFAIK, that there was no reason for the Canadian border guard to run his name through the national database. I don't believe him. I know him, I think he said or did something stupid, that attracted their attention. In any event, he was turned back from Canada. "Oh look, you're wanted in four states, including the one yuou're attempting to leave. We think you're trying to run from you warrants, and we don't want you. Go back."
Blake insists, to this day AFAIK, that there was no reason for the American border guard to run his name through the national database. I don't believe him. I think watching him be turned back would be considered 'Probable Cause'. In any event, "Oh look, you're wanted in four states, including the one you're attempting to enter. Thank you *so* much for turning yourself in. You're under arrest."
Blake was wanted in Maine for multiple 'Driving on a Suspended License' violations. He was sentenced to 6 months.
He served 11.
First he got a couple extra months tacked on for fighting. This was mostly expected, we recognized he needed to establish his place in the pecking order. Then, he managed to get on a work-release program (no clue how he pulled that one off, but it did afford him the occasional opportunity to slip away and
And his girlfriend (remember her?) was waiting for him when he got out. Last I knew, they were still together. No, I don't know why.
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no subject
Date: 2005-08-11 05:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-11 11:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-15 12:36 am (UTC)It's even more entertaining in person, so that's another thing on the list for the nexzt time we see each other IRL :).
no subject
Date: 2005-08-23 06:59 pm (UTC)It's a date. I'd love to hear it blow-by-blow. *chuckling*
no subject
Date: 2005-08-12 03:00 am (UTC)Oddly enough, still sounds smarter than a guy I know. Of course, this narrative doesn't sound like he's a manipulative waste of sperm. The guy I know is.
Non-sequitor: Are you the person whose journal I browsed through that made a longbow? I'm trying to figure out who that was so I can ask some questions.
no subject
Date: 2005-08-15 12:38 am (UTC)And no, sadly, that was not me. Good luck in finding them . . .
no subject
Date: 2005-08-23 07:00 pm (UTC)But she's certainly worth knowing.
You know, just sayin'.