The Day Police Came to Get Me

Last week it was. The day started lazily enough with no indication of what lay in store. Wednesdays are my off-days at work but I was supposed to attend this get-together at 1 to meet an online overseas acquaintance who was in town. As four of us were speeding along, 45 minutes late, to the other side of town in a cab, my phone rang. It was my sister at home. She said worriedly, "Three policemen have just come in and want to see you." I went, "Who, me? What for?" She said she didn't know, they wouldn't say. Just that the OC at Bawngkawn Police Station had sent them to pick me up. My heart did flip flops as I racked my beanos on why they could possibly want me. Had someone made a complaint about something I said? Something I'd done years and years ago? Something I ate? Case of mistaken identity? I told my sister to give them my cell phone number and say I was tied up at the moment but would report at the station at 3. Ok, they reportedly said after confirming with their boss, 3 pm.

Unfortunately, the meet was still underway at 3 and no one seemed to realise time was tick tocking away. Amazing how some people can talk, by the way. Finally, my phone rang again. One of the men in khaki, in fact, the big boss man the OC himself. It seemed urgent and then it struck me that it must have something to do with a parcel I'd sent by speed post the previous day. "Is this about my parcel?" "Yes, ma'am, can you tell us the contents of the parcel?" "Um items of clothing, a book..." "That's all?" "I think so, magic jelly..." The officer, who had a very nice courteous tone of speaking, chuckled, "Magic jelly?" "Yes sir, ohhhh wait, I also put in a lighter in the shape of a pistol." "Ahhhh, a lighter shaped like a pistol?" "Yes sir, a gas lighter." "Well ma'am, can you come to the main post office so we can open it in your presence?" Silly me went, "Oh, why don't you just open it now? It's not anything dangerous, really." "Ma'am, we really would like to have you around when we do that. We'll wait for you in the speed post section." "Alright, I'll try to be there around 3.30."

The party finally split, after a spell of silly group photography, and I didn't tell anyone anything, just that I had to go to the post office. Only the speed post master was there when I arrived. He offered me a seat and said the police and parcel weren't there yet but a CID man was. Whoa - CID?! I was starting to feel terribly silly and uncomfortable. He was very nice and polite too but took down my name and particulars, the recipient of the parcel, etc etc. He said the people at the airport had seen the gun shape under x-ray and called in the police. Double whoa. He asked what size was the lighter and was it bigger than his gun, at which, to my horror, he whipped out from his trouser pocket a small pistol. "Oh, much smaller than that," I assured him hurriedly.

Then the police arrived with the condemned parcel. We ripped it open and I drew out the contents. A couple of chocolate bars fell out. I'd forgotten I'd packed those for a sweet-toothed someone. And then the suspicious item. Everyone began laughing and one policeman asked where I'd got it from and was it very expensive. Another said, "On the airport x-ray monitor it had looked much bigger and completely lifelike. If it'd been made of plastic, it wouldn't have been so suspect but with it being metallic, it was just too much!" I had to restitch the parcel packaging and since the post office didn't have needles or threads, the CID guy kindly said he knew a place just down the corner where I could do the needful and took me to a tailoring shop. After my parcel was neatly stitched up again, I went back to the post office and got it redeposited.

When I got home, my sister was in a tizzy. And in my mortification, I'd completely forgotten to call and let her know what was happening so she'd been just about climbing walls. Needless to say, when I related the whole crazy story, both my sisters thoroughly ticked me off for my idiocy and imbecility. One reminded me of how I'd once had my nailcutter confiscated from my handbag at the airport check-in. Ooops yes, when will I ever learn?

The offending object of suspicion