Fighting Crime

Now I normally don't care what people do with or to themselves. You want to pull an Amy Winehouse (become an uglier version of Sarah Silverman and do drugs), than go for it. I figure if it doesn't affect me right this second, then why should I care. Fine, I like to watch people go on downward spirals. Big deal. Speaking of which, today at 8:00 AM I pulled up to a traffic light on my way to the gym to work my glamor muscles when I notice the guy sitting in the car next to me is packing a bowl. We will now refer to him as Mr. Weedman in any future reference. At the same time this guy is getting ready to smoke up, I notice a police officer sitting on the other side of the traffic light looking for speeders. Mr. Weedman looks at me and quickly closes his hands praying I didn't see his precious weed. Oh, but I did, Mr. Weedman, I did. Now this is a long light so I had plenty of time to think of what to do next. The full gambit of emotions ran through my head; Why does he get to smoke weed and I don't? Why couldn't he just do it at home like everyone else? Is he really driving a Hyundai? Why does my leg itch? Did I pack underwear in my gym bag?

Before long the light changed and Mr. Weedman speeds off to what I assume is a high stakes job in the world of finance. I on the other hand drove across the street and pulled up next to the cop. Without getting into too many details, let's just say, I said "Go get em". The cop turned on his siren and took off. I have no idea what became of Mr. Weedman nor do I care. I was off to work my triceps and hopefully catch someone peeing in the shower.