po po knockin' on the do do!

In the past week I've had two run-ins with the law. I know, I know, I'm a wild child. Sadly these run-ins were not a result of too much drinking, too much fun, or even anything I did. Just some creepy mo-fo's, that's all.

So, the stories:

1. The setting is Palm Beach, Florida. 12:30am. 7 hot young ladies are sitting around, drinking massive quantities of wine, and regaling in the fabulousness that is a bachelorette weekend away from cold weather and work. The house phone rings and everyone is startled... who would be calling at this hour? Katie answers the phone, it's a young man... he says he's the doorman and he has a package for us. At this point, we're all pretty sure he's either a stripper (thanks, Mom!) or a psycho killer (qu'est-ce que c'est? ba ba ba baa ba ba ba ba baa ba). We decide that it's definitely the latter and proceed to freak out (remember the many bottles of wine). Then the phone rings again... it's the doorman again, look outside your window, he says. Brave Katie decides to open the blinds and look outside the window and there's a guy in a suit standing there. He asks her to open the door and she does- he looks like a doorman, right?

This is when things get super shady. Where's this supposed package? It's in his hand, and he flashes it just long enough for Katie to see something small and white. She asks to see it again, so he holds up the little plastic baggie, "I think it's cocaine," he says. No shit it's cocaine. At this point she tells him that it's not ours and slams the door, totally freaked out. Doorman has a key to condo, doorman is trying to sell drugs, doorman has bad haircut.

After consulting a legal prosecuter and the 2 3L's in the room, we called the police. Man oh man, they were excited about our call, so much so that 3 officers came to check out the situation. Apparently not much happens in Palm Beach. After listening to our story and questioning the doorman, they decided it was necessary for us to "ID the perp." Yes, that's really what they wanted us to do: so much so that they made us turn out all the lights in the condo and bring the doorman (we now know his name is Reggie) to the front door and shine their flashlights on him so we could see him. Man oh man, he looked scared shitless. Probably thought he was going to make an extra buck on some springbreakers. Poor Reg got fired the next morning, but don't worry, we definitely poured one out for him Saturday night.

2. Flash forward to last night at the boutique. It's about 6:30pm and I'm ready to close up shop, basically just dinking around on gchat. A tall poorly dressed (like a bum) man kind of stumbled into the store and pulled out a crumpled up dollar bill and a cigarette. I asked if I could help him with anything, he said no, just stared at me. So then I said, "I'm sorry sir, we only carry women's clothing here. I don't think we have anything for you." I felt a wee bit like the snotty saleswoman in Pretty Woman, but whatever, this guy was freaking me out. He said he was looking for old or new girlfriends... he was always looking for NEW girlfriends, as he began to look me up and down. That's when I got all kinds of defensive and told him to leave. Then he started pandering me, telling me how hot I was, and what exactly he'd like to do to me. I'll try to keep this all PG so I won't quote him, so let's just leave it at that. He came around the desk and tried to grab me, and that's when I flipped. In my quick frenzy to find some kind of weapon, I looked down and saw these on my feet:
In a quick thinking yet probably stupid moment of genius, I said "If you're not out of here in 10 seconds I have no problem shoving this 4 inch heel where it hurts and calling the police." It probably took more like 30 seconds for him to scurry out (after drinking directly from our water pitcher and nabbing all of our cookies) but he made haste for the door. I called the police anyway, just to let them know this creepazoid was out and about, but didn't have them actually come to the store: cops once a week is plenty for me.

LATE EDIT: And on a lighter note, I forgot to add the third experience I had with police (this one was in fact due to my drunkeness). The ladies and I were hanging out in front of the bar in Palm Beach and they were playing Lionel Richie inside. We decided to start dancing and a very unhappy police officer told us to get out of the street. To that I answered, quite belligerently, "Come ON. It's Lionel Richie! Everyone you meet, they're dancing in the street, ALL NIGHT LONG!" and proceeded to continue my dancing. Needless to say, Mr. Crankypants the cop was not amused. I thought I was pretty witty.