My Records from Forever

   Today we had a bit of a run-in with law enforcement. Running across the street from cousins' to our place, to get shoes to play basketball, Alex ducked into the bushes. Passing police cars happened to spot him, and notice him not wearing shoes, in fact wearing only pajamas, and attempting to make himself scarce to get out of the way as the cars rolled by... Yeah. They figured he was a runaway, or something... I was inside as Alex breezed by, telling me that there was a police officer who would like to see me at the door.

   Oh.

   Act. Natural.

   We chatted. The officer asked me my name and Alex's, how to spell that, our relation, my age... writing this all down. The story of why Alex (who breezed back by with his shoes on) would be dressed as he was. Where our parents were at (Dancing with the Stars,) so that made me the babysitter technically... He drops his pen at one point, and I help him pick it up (apparently speaking in present tense now!) Talking with people isn't difficult. I was never nervous talking to girls until I learned that I should be.

   There's a scene in National Treasure where Riley tells Ben, dude they're gonna have your records from forever dude they're gonna have my records from forever. That feeling is here, to be honest, just a little bit.

   What are they going to do with these records? I'm thinking. My criminal records are... I'm clean, right? That (genuinely funny) near-86 at Wal-Mart, they don't record that kind of thing if it doesn't go all the way through, yeah? And, what about records higher up? Are they going to run me through an FBI database? Do they keep things like internet search history there?

   Oh crap. They're gonna find my web comics...

   The conversation (well, Q&A) wound (returning to past tense again) down, as another vehicle paused at the corner-- Grandparents' Prius. Paused, and rolled back, noticing the police vehicle in the driveway. I pointed them out. Blocking the driveway now, so there was no way the police would be able to escape a conversation with them. I went back inside and left them to it.

   Funny thing is, the ensuing conversation probably confused the officer(s) even more. Grandma reiterated the dubious story of the normality of dressing up in pajamas without footwear, for one. And also (wondering if the officer could get any straight answers from me) called me autistic... which the guy said I most definitely do not seem... so, hmm.

   It's genuinely still a toss-up whether this is going to get anywhere, if it's going to get filed as an official incident or whatever. Shoot, probably. I don't know police procedure. So who knows, maybe the FBI will use some of their resources to look into me, instead of trying to track down Jack the Ripper or whatever.

   Still hilarious, though.