How many clowns can you fit in a volkswagen?

I’ve been in NYC for a little over a month, and I’ve already had a run-in with the authorities. Shocking, I know.

A few weeks back, Peapod came up to visit for the weekend. By the time he arrived, it was well into Saturday night and I was down visiting some friends in the Village and we’d already made our way through a bottle of cheap merlot, among other things. We decided that it made the most sense for Peapod to drive us to Brooklyn, where we were supposed to attend a birthday party.

There were two problems with our wine-induced plan:

1. There were 8 of us traveling to Brooklyn
2. Peapod drives a Volkswagen

We thought about the possibility of taxis, but it was a windy, rain-soaked night so we opted for a very uncomfortable, but completely free ride. Including Peapod, three people sat up front and five of us in back. We had only driven for a few minutes before someone saw a terrifying site: a random checkpoint.

“Everyone duck,” someone shouted, irrationally thinking that maybe, JUST MAYBE, if we moved our heads two inches closer to the floor of the vehicle, the cop wouldn’t notice that the car was practically dragging on the ground with all of our weight. A large police officer looked at us, did a very dramatic double-take and ushered us over to the side of the road.

He walked over to the car, poked his head into the driver’s side window, scanned the smooshed scene and said 4 times in succession, “You’ve gotta be fuckin kidding me.” He was not pleased. His annoyance may have been aggravated by the fact that there were 3 girls in the backseat who couldn’t contain their red wine-fueled hysteria. And yes, I was one of those girls and for the record, I tried not to laugh.

The cop shook his head, squinted his eyes, dropped the F-bomb a few more times and then took ALL of our licenses. He came back about 35 minutes later, made us all get out of the car and said, “alright you’re all gettin paper.”

“Paper” in NYPD-speak apparently means a ticket for $40 plus a $50 processing fee. I told myself I was going to fight the system and go to court, but I’m just too lazy. I’m also broke, but obviously lazier than broke.

On a sidenote, for a second or two, when we were all piling into the car and having a hard time making room for things like, oh, arms and legs, the Scooby Snacks considered riding in the trunk of the car. I can only imagine what the officer would have done if he’d found another person back there.

Another lesson learned, I suppose. Albeit, a lesson that most people learn before graduating from high school, but better late than never, right?