the $222 beer

Brian was in town for a quick trip this week and it was phenomenally beautiful outside, so we picked up a tallboy and headed for the disc golf course after work. If you've never played disc golf, I'd say 50% of the people walking the course are either smoking a bowl or carting a six-pack. It's laidback, to say the least. So anyway, we each have a measly single can of beer in a brown bag, homeless-style, and we're thoroughly enjoying our afternoon (and I'm thoroughly wishing I didn't suck at disc golf). On about hole four, the group of guys in front of us sits down to pack a bowl, so we jump in front of them. Nothing here to see. 

We follow the path out from behind some bushes, mid-hole, when I hear that dreaded question that's not a question at all: "Ma'am, can you come here for a moment." It's Officer Fuckme.

Now, clearly when Office F. saw such a hard criminal like myself wreaking havoc left and right amongst other innocent marijuana possessors, it made sense to drive his car up on the public lawn to eliminate a deadly 20-foot chase. Clearly.

I have successfully gotten out of three police encounters by being quiet, polite, and submissive. So I assumed my preppiness combined with my sobriety would probably warrant a warning and disposal of the DEADLY WEAPON but that's about it. 

However, when Officer F. looked up Brian's and my criminal records in Texas and saw that they were squeaky clean, he realized what kind of threat we must be to the park, to children, to society. 

Aaaaaaaaand two-hundred twenty-two dollars and a court date a piece later, we were free to go. 

I think it's worth noting that $222 is more than we would've paid if we'd dropped a deuce right in front of the kind Officer. 

But please, don't worry, that pack of scroungy men who were blatantly chugging beers and the trio of under-18ers who were high as balls? They all got to finish their rounds of golf. PHEW!