Last week I had something of an adventure. It does say over there in my profile that I'm a science writer, but notice that nowhere in that profile does it say that I'm a successful science writer. As a matter of fact, right here at the beginning of this silly little exercise in self-absorption I might as well tell everyone that for the last few years I've been living under a bridge. I mean I work and everything, I make money (from time to time--more about that later, not today) and I know a public place where I can illegally, in the middle of the night, go take a shower and wash clothing. Since I sort of live around Washington DC it doesn't get that cold around here and the ledge under the bridge is well sheltered from the elements, so....
I had gone to an undisclosed location and done some work/research that day and thus had been paid. Not a princely sum but enough to raise me to glorious heights of enthusiasm, since I hadn't had any money for some time. To celebrate this exhilarating windfall, I decided to go BUY SOME FUCKING BEER. This is my default celebration mode--when marijuana is available I generally add that to the mix, as it were.
Well, I had gotten some food, too, and that damn ledge is pretty narrow so what I needed was an alternative location. And I knew just the place. It was covered, it had working electrical outlets so that this Mack Truck of a Toshiba that I'm writing this on could be plugged in and computer games and writing could be attempted. Additionally, this location boasted a working telephone plug. And I, bereft of communication in the modern sense, did however have a working land-line type phone which I could plug in and go hog wild making telephone calls to anywhere in the world (I'm not kidding--I called Thailand) that I wished.
Behold Shangri-la:
Shipley Field, ladies and gentlemen, the
One more thing... at that undisclosed location the folks there, who I've worked for years with had gotten these cool little techie party favor gizmos that comprised a sort of seven inch tall glitter lava lamp that plugged into the USB port of a computer and lit up and colored lights kind of spun around inside it and it looked really cool. It also kind of made me think of a glow-in-the-dark dildo but let's not pursue that train of thought.
So I walk right in, the place isn't locked--or the back door isn't locked-- and proceed to have a jolly time in the press box, where aforementioned delights are located. Ate a bunch of unhealthy food, drank about a six-pack of beer, and gleefully talk to an old friend of mine in
Fucking. Idiot. You'll never guess what woke me up
I was still pretty loaded but there were at least four of them. I have to admit that they were not that rude. Pissed off, yes, but not rude. They watched as I packed up the computer and the little glowing sparkly traitorous dildo--because, "Gee Bob, I wonder what that glow in the press box of the Stadium is at 2.30 in the morning?"
They wanted to know how I had gotten in. I informed them that the gate had been wide open and they demanded that I show them. So with these four cops following me, I went through the still wide open gate in the opposite direction from which I had come. Either they thought that I was stupid and I'd get lost on this arduous 150 yard journey or they had locked the main gate after them when they'd come in, presumably so whoever they were going to find couldn't make a run for it which made them kind of stupid.
They took my picture with a very bright flash camera a whole bunch of times. They told me I was trespassing, which I already knew, and that I would be arrested if they caught me again. Presumably anywhere on campus. Considering the amount of money that I paid this school over the course of ten years I thought that was ungracious but I didn't mention it or press the point since handcuffs had entered neither the conversation nor my sight. Then they told me to leave. "Move." was the word one of them used.
So I did. I only went back once, the next day, to try to use my telephone again and they had turned off the plugs. Bastards. They also caught me again, but this time it was two women cops and they were pretty nice. They didn't yell or threaten me. One even gave me a ride back to the bridge and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
Bill
