A Birthday Party with the Cops

You all would have noticed from my previous “regular” blog posts, I love storytelling. I have loads of experiences and I’m glad  I have a medium to share it with others. Social media is a wonderful place and I try making the most of it. So here it goes, with your encouragement and constant questioning as to when I’m posting another log has led me to write this and I have another story to share.

Also, I must add that I cannot mention any names as it’d put their existence at a threat. Hope you understand that.

This story like many other stories isn’t just your regular “grandpa” stories. This is a legendary story. As story which consists of people who are legendary themselves, i.e. my friends. I can put my faith into them to run into trouble with ease. Trouble could have been their middle name, if all of them were from the same family.

This is a night in the month of November. I was back home in Pune for my winter break from college. A very cheerful time of the year. Hot home made food with ghee on top of it. The luxury of getting to stay at home for a couple of weeks and the opportunity to hang out with your old buds over a late night pizza, talking about the shenanigans you did at school as a troupe of monkeys left in the open.

We were still monkeys, just that we were (and still are ) allowed more liberty after starting college. A lethal decision made by our parents, opposing to the safety of the citizens in our city.

One fine night we decided to visit a pub, called The Swig because it was a friends birthday. What can be better than flowing alcohol, finger foods, good music and your chums for a celebration? There were around ten to eleven of us. Half drunk, half over the place. It was a great night, and a rare one too because you don’t usually go out with the whole platoon. A platoon full of girls who just wouldn’t stop dancing, even after the place closed down.

The dance performance was later shifted to the streets because the pub had to down its shutters. Why wouldn’t they, it was past 1AM.

I feel that alcohol, friends and you being sober is a perfect concoction for a great story. And so it did.

That night was a very tedious task for me, as I’d never handled five-six drunk people. The Birthday Girl passed out. Her boyfriend went to corner and tried slapping himself in order to sober up. The Bald Guy (another friend of mine) and two other girl-friends were in the middle of the street, dancing.

“What the heck are you guys doing? Come here!”, I shouted at them.

“We’re performing a tribute to Michael Jackson! Join us here!”, replied The Bald Guy. I honestly didn’t know whether I should laugh or be stern with them. To tell you the truth, deep down in my heart I was ‘lmao’. Here in my arms was The Birthday Girl who passed out, right there in the corner was her boyfriend slapping himself to the fourth dimension of sobriety and three nincompoops in the middle of the road executing a moonwalk to no melody whatsoever.

Thankfully, my other friends arrived with the cars and I loaded these boozed up zombies one by one. The story starts now, with me and three other people in one car. And rest of the seeing double children in the other car. So I was with the Bald Guy and one of the MJ girls. The driver was a rather sober guy, who will be referred to as Mr. Patton. Worry not, he just had a pint or two and was fit to drive.

As we moved on to drop the lads back home, we were greeted by a police check-post. A cop stopped the car and asked Mr. Patton, “Did you have a drink?”, to which Mr. Patton replied, “No sir, I did not.” The cop went on to reason with him, “Thodi si toh pee hogi? Come on man, I’m sure you had some?”. Mr. Patton denied all these false accusations pressed on him, to which the cop told him to get a breathalyzer test. And he did.

Guess what? He could’ve come free, if he didn’t have that last sip of beer.

The meter read 1.5 units above the limit.

Meanwhile, Mr. Patton was shitting bricks I burst out laughing. The Bald Guy volunteered to reason with the cops. “Broooo, you guyss wait here. I’ll go take care of this.”, spoke the sloshed bald headed teenager. Oh, how I wish he’d passed out that night.

Mr. Patton and I went to the cop to have a late night chat with him.

“Sir, whats the hold up? Can we leave?”, said I, the most charming person on the face of this planet.

“Yeah, so your friend was driving above the prescribed alcohol limit.”, replied the cop.

“But sir, it was just 1.5 units above. And my friend here is very much in his senses. I can assure you that he is in no way going to cause an accident of any sort.”, I tried reasserting him.

“You’ll have to pay a fine of Rs. 15,000 and have a meeting at the court on Monday.”, bullshitted the cop.

I swear to God I burst out laughing on the cops face. 15 grand?! From where? At that moment it seemed better to board that police vehicle and take the road not taken. I opened my wallet to count the notes I had.

Rs 30. That was it.

And Mr. Patton had another 50 bucks on him. The Courtroom was already visible to me. The Judge banging his hammer and ordering Mr. Patton 6 months of social service was already ringing in my ears.

I called the other lads and sent a message for SOS.

Turned out they were equally hammered and had guzzled a liter of Listerine before coming to rescue us. It couldn’t get any worse.

So, I’m that kind of person who will laugh in the face of danger especially when I’m with my gang. I hate to confess, I was absolutely enjoying this show put on by the lads. Turns out the boys who had come to rescue us had only Rs. 100 on them.

So we were short of Rs. 14,820. I wouldn’t get that much of cash even if I sold myself to slavery.

At this point I’d like to thank all my girl-friends and my mother who have honed and taught me the art of bargaining. Finally those countless hours of spent standing and I sent the cop on a guilt trip and brought the amount down to Rs. 800. I’m very proud of this accomplishment and plan to put it up in my CV as well.

Tears welled up, hugs were exchanged that night. The boys grew very sentimental and I’m very glad to tell you that the annoying Bald Guy passed out. I couldn’t be more happy.

All my comrades safely reached home that night and The Birthday Girl had passed out in the car.

And that ladies and gentlemen, is how you tell a story to not drink and drive.






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