I am so going to jail.


There I was, smoking a gigantic bowl out of my beautiful purple bong. I was 24 years old with not a care in the world. I had just moved to L.A. from San Diego and I was pursuing my acting dream. I was young, thin, and beautiful. Life was good. I finished my morning “breakfast” and threw on my uniform. It was time to go to work. I was working at Jerry’s Famous Deli on Ventura Blvd. Having just gotten into town I was happy I was able to land a job right out of the gate. The only problem was, I was only able to get two shifts a week. I know what you’re thinking, maybe if you didn’t smoke pot you would be a better employee and they would give you more shifts. On the contrary my friend, having only two shifts a week and still making employee of the month for three months in a row speaks for itself. And do you know why I was employee of the month? Because I was the happiest damned employee you had ever seen!

Anyway, it was a weekday and I only worked weekends. But at Jerry’s we opened early. REALLY early. If you went in and hung out on your days off, dressed and ready to serve, you stood a pretty good chance that someone would be burnt out from the breakfast rush and would let you take the rest of their shift. I needed the money so I had to take a chance. As I was exiting my apartment into the sunny, perfect day, I was a little shocked at what was waiting for me outside.

Cops. Four of them. Hands on their guns. “Oh shit, I’m so going to jail,” I thought. But then I noticed that they weren’t looking at me. They were looking at what I thought was the balcony directly under mine.

“Is everything okay?” I said.
“We are responding to a break in, ma’am.”
“Ooooooh. Okay.” So I got into my red Pontiac Firebird parked directly in front of one of the cop cars and drove off. Now THAT was some damned fine police work right there. Letting a stoner walk right past you, get into an automobile, and drive into traffic. Thrilled with my narrow escape, I listened to Bob Marley and sang the whole way to work.

“Don’ worry, ‘bout a ting…
Cuz ev’ry little ‘ting…Gwon’ be all right!”

I got to work and went up to my manager Sheryl to ask her if anyone wanted to go home and if I could pick up a shift.
“You can cover for Claire and Hung.”
WTF? Claire and Hung were my roommates. Why the hell would they leave? I understand that one may be tired, but both?
“Where did Claire and Hung go?” I said.
“The cops called, and there has been a break in at your house.”

Now, maybe I’m splitting hairs here, but shouldn’t Sheryl have put this whole “break in” at the top of her “Things to tell Stacy” list? The cops have called my roommates home, but she’s going to let me pick up one of their shifts? Priorities, Sheryl. Priorities. Speaking of which…

“Oh my God! I have to go,” I muttered as I ran for the door.

I jumped back into my awesome 80’s driving machine, and sped home. All the while thinking, HOLYSHIT HOLYSHIT HOLYSHIT! Given the timing, that means that whoever broke in was in the apartment when I was in there. Totally scared, and feeling pretty uneasy, a second thought crossed my mind.

Oh no…the weed.

I have to get home and take responsibility for the pot so Claire and Hung don’t get into trouble for it. I pulled up in front of the building and the cop cars were gone. That could mean one of two things:
1) They caught the intruder and took him away. Or…
2) They caught the intruder and threw him in a Paddy Wagon with Claire and Hung, who have been arrested for possession with intent to sell.

I think I’m going to be sick. I ran up the stairs and was going to bust through the front door, but the cops had already done that for me. Ummm, thanks? Both my roommates were there and they looked a little frazzled but no worse for the wear.

“What the hell happened?” I asked.

Claire explained that her friend Charlie had called the house, only to have the police answer the phone and tell him what had happened. They told Charlie to find Claire, so he had tracked her down at work.

“That’s not the worst of it,” Hung said. “Turns out someone broke into the DOWNSTAIRS apartment, not ours! Now we have a broken front door. And…dude. Go check out your room.”

I walked in my room and it was a mess. Both of my closets had been thrown open and most of my clothes had been flung to the floor. Now I don’t blame the cops for ransacking the house. They were looking out for our best interests. They were even kind enough to “ignore” the bong that sat on top of my dresser. I closed my eyes and said, “Oh please, oh please, tell me it’s still there.” I opened up my dresser drawer and they had even left me my weed. All in all, the cops were okay in my book.

I walked back out in the living room and looked at the front door, which was now off it’s hinges. “They could have at least left a note,” I said. “Sorry, broke into the wrong apartment. Our bad.” The girls went back to work and I hung around for Maintenance to come fix the door. Normally Mondays were pretty boring. Now the only problem was, I just had to figure out what to do with the rest of my day. So being bored, I decided to smoke another bowl and watch the security channel for the underground parking lot. Thinking to myself, I wonder what the bitch in 3c is doing?

Love it? Hate it? Let me know! Send questions, comments, brownie recipes or random brainfarts to: mrsdiagnosed@yahoo.com

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