Made my first visit to my local police department last night. Why? You ask.
because my neighbors decided to steal my license plates over the weekend.
Here I am trying to spread the word of sustainable life choices and earth stewardship... meanwhile... some knuckleheads are using their Dewalt cordless 18V drill to remove my tags (screws too) and commit God knows what kind of vehicular crimes with my plates. They probably have their newly minted car burning in some shipyard as we speak... the fire, of course, would clean out the evidence from the robbery and foul play that ensued... the plates... my plates... the only link to the villainous tirade reaped on the nation's capital. That's when the APB will go out... and the Feds will descend, harnessed and fully armed through the skylights at my office. There will be screaming, mild tear gas, and subsequently my newsworthy arrest. Of course, I'll protest... saying that I have the receipt from the police report I filed in my wallet, but I will say that ... forgetting that I am a man of color, in America, in the company of the police... and well... it just wouldn't end well. In fact, it would end badly.
So that’s what is on my mind. I'm about to be the guy with the piece of cardboard scotch taped to the back of my car that reads:
It’s a good thing that I believe cars are a devilishly addictive indulgence and am such a proponent of mass transit.
It makes me ever so slightly less likely to engineer an indestructible suit of armor and take to the streets for some vigilante justice.
