So it Sevitz (1 of me) vs. The Coppers (At least 20 of them) last night in a Mexican stand off, Quintin Tarantino style. Ok thats a lie. There was no Mexicans standing off anywhere. Just me trying not to crap large style construction bricks.
Due to the train home sitting still for about 25 minutes I didn't get time to get food for dinner before my game of squash last night. And after squash we went for a drink. I had a pint and a half of Guinness over about an hour and a half. On my way to get some takeout, I pulled in behind a cop, and as always was a little nervous. Even though I knew I had not had much to drink, you don't really want to explain this to the coppers. But he went left and I went right so all was fine. The take away place was closed however, so I ended up popping into the BP service station 100 yards from my house to get some food.
While I was in the service station, and trying to debate over the piss poor selection of food, a cop comes into get some munch as well. As I didn't want to stand behind a cop smelling of beer and fags, I tried to act indecisive over what to eat. The damn cop took his time faffing with stuff, which meant I ended up dawdling more and more. As he paid for his stuff, another cop comes in and repeats the process. Eventually after wondering around the BP shop looking at crisps and other food, and acting really indecisive over the two pasta's they had, Cop 2 gets to the front of the queue and I join the back. I pay for my pasta (which tasted crap incidentally) and get into my car. Which I had parked in the paraplegic bay. Which I might add I never do. But it was empty and I was only going to be 2 minutes (till the coppers arrived anyway).
Lo and behold, their are not one. but two police vans filling up with about a million cops in each. Ok maybe 10 or so. Still not the view I wanted to be greeted with. After faffing with my seatbelt for a few seconds, I pulled out and headed home. The cops pull out and follow me. I pull into my underground parking and before I could turn the corner, they flash me. I shit myself. Large square construction style bricks.
I get out of the car and approach the coppers. Now when I get nervous (giving a speech, standing on a cliff, being pulled over by the fuzz) my left leg freezes up completely and my rick shakes uncontrollably. Not really the best state to be in when questioned dy the men in (black/blue? what is it) police vans. Fortunately Mr Cop Person was very friendly and nice and polite and didn't hit me with his night stick at all. He did however ask me if I had being drinking. I said that I had. He asked how much and I said a pint. He asked when and I said about a half hour ago. He then calls Mr Other Cop person over with a breathalyser. Basically my mind is now running scenarios of me being thrown in a dark place and being left to rot. Or at least loosing my license. However I thought bursting into tears would not help, and stoically tried to look calm.
The copper people then ask me if I had been smoking (I had) and if I had in the last five minutes (I hadn't). He then explains to me about the breathalyser and after clearing my lungs (of what I don't know) I blow into his tube (on the breath test jobbie). He then looks at a green light and says I passed. Before my brain can even process this, copper number 2 points to an amber light and says its still processing. My brain process this and goes back into generating scenarios of doom. Fortunately the little white box (not an iPOD which would have been a whole lot better) beeps and he says I am clear. My heart starts beating again, they apologise and start heading off. I enquire if I had been doing anything wrong and the police dude says they were just suspicious I had been drinking.
I manage to park the car, although am now suffering from a surge of adrenaline and head upsets to light a fag shakily and try learn what breathing is. As far as fun stakes I thinking its somewhere between a poke to the eye with a pointy stick and an poke to a pointy stick with an eye. A whole massive wad of non funness.
So the moral of the story is, taking 15 minutes to choose between two service station pastas looks highly suspicious. Next time I am just going to Maccy D's.