Officer Mitchell
Written by: Jimmy D
Okay so this happened about a year ago but it's still fresh in my mind. At the time I was a freshman in college and a pretty hefty weed smoker at that. It also happened that my roommate at the time was the biggest dealer in my dorm and I got to smoke for free like 5 times a day haha. But anyway, we had this tradition that we called "ritual". Essentially all we did was sneak down the back stairs where nobody could sneak up on us and smoke his bong. This was a fairly well known spot, but not so well known that the cops would get wind of it. Anyway, I had just finished writing a 10 page paper that night and felt like ritual was just the thing I needed. I called up my roommate to see where he was at; he couldn't make it but invited me to go on my own, as long as I don't break his shit. So I packed one up and headed downstairs without a care in the world. Oh, and did I mention that it was 2 in the morning? Cause it was. So I smoke it bong, pour the water, and start to make my way back up the stairs. Looking back, I probably should've hid the bong in a bag or something because it just so happened that as I was walking up the stairs, a cop was walking down the stairs. Could I have run? Possibly, but honestly it would have been too risky cause if he caught me, I would've been fucked harder than I already was.
Okay so since he caught me inside of the building, he officially had the right to search the entire room once he acquired a warrant. Those take about 2 hours to get with the evidence that he had, and he declared that he was willing to wait. He gave me two choices, either just give him all the week I've got now, or he'll get the dogs (yes Montclair state univ. has dogs) to sniff my shit up and down. Did I mention my roommate deals? So we've got 2 zips in the freezer right now and I'm sweating bricks. But just then, a stroke of genius hits me. I remember that my roommate always has about an eighth bagged out in his desk. So I dig through his desk and pull out 4 bags and his bowl. Oh...and his scale. OH! And an empty ounce bag. Ohhhhh shit. So at this point there's now the cop in uniform, a detective, and a lady cop, the latter two are undercover. The chick is trying to play good cop and keeps asking if I deal...even just to my friends. I stick to my story, "no way man, that scale is just for checking to see if I got scammed” so the cop in uniform asks, "why are they all bagged out? Don't dealers bag everything out individually" "yes I replied, and the customer receives it in that very same bag” they had seen enough and took me to the station, where I was charged with possession. They took my phone. If the retards had been good enough cops to check it, they would have clearly seen the texts from my roommate asking me to "sell a bag for him real quick". I ended up with a fine and six months of probation. I owed my roommate about $100 and got a lesson in public smoking. But I did save my own ass from intent...and I DEFINATLY saved his ass.
BUT WAIT! THERES MORE!
The following semester, in October I believe it was, I really wanted to burn. I had my favorite jacket on (the one with the stash pocket on the sleeve). I meet him at what we like to call the "smoking benches". He sells me the bag, which I immediately jam in my stash pocket. Before I go he says "dude you hafta check out my new bowl, it was only $5! As he's showing it to me I hear the dreaded *ring ring* that can only come from one thing. Squeals on wheels. thats right, a biker cop comes from behind and shouts "don't you put that back in your pocket boy!" Guess what. It's the SAME FUCKING COP. Officer James Mitchell. Since I saved him, he saved me back. "officer it's all mine, I was just showing him my bowl" now my puppy dog eyes were enough to sway this guy into not searching me, but his 5'2 Italian partner...not so much. I kept asking him if I was in trouble or if I was going to be arrested but he wouldn't answer me. He kept telling me to empty my pockets, and since I knew there was nothing in them, I decided to give him a hard time. I kept saying that I have no illegal substance on me and that I would really like to know if I am in trouble, and that if I wasn't that I didn't feel comfortable emptying my pockets. Eventually he said that if they find nothing, I'll be fine. So I emptied all of my pockets. Not good enough. "Spread 'em" he said. A little nervous, I complied. He patted me down for a good 45 seconds, scowled and told me to get the hell out of here. I did. I think that the combination of those two events are enough to declare me one smooooooth ass operator.
moral(s) of the story: 1. if you're caught and you know it, minimize. 2. Don't run, it's just stupid. 3. If you save someone's ass, they'll save yours back. 4. Don't smoke weed at MSU...cause Officer James Mitchell will find and catch your ass. And lastly 5. Stash pockets really do work.
|
