Use the Force

[JWaterford]

I will allow the guilty parties in this one to claim ownership of their work, if they care to. Or you can just guess. Names and (possibly) genders have been changed.

The background: In my last Second I was known to be fond of pharmacological enhancement of one's life experience and of practical jokes, of which X was often the target. It was 1980, and I was leaving my job at the University of Washington for a think tank in central California. X and I decided to make the move a road trip.

The story: As we were passing through Humboldt County we stopped to pick up some of Humboldt County’s main agricultural export and X persuaded me that we should enjoy some then and there, and I didn’t take much persuading. So we lit up and continued down the highway and X began to tell me about his new project: mass-action switches…switches that will work on anyone, anywhere, no need to graze, just add water. I expressed my skepticism at some length, and he kept telling me in aggrieved tones that he had it working already, that he’d been putting switches into Hollywood movies for the last several years and that he was at the point where he had it working well enough that he felt ready to make a big reveal and share it with everybody, and what the hell did I know about switches, I had always been lousy at switches (too true!).

I was having a good laugh about this and giving him a hard time about his Hollywood switches when suddenly there’s a California state trooper behind us with his lights flashing and I’ve gone from laughing my head off to terrified, because of course, not only is the car is stiff with marijuana smoke, we’ve got a couple of ounces of the good stuff in the glove compartment and I was completely splifficated and, shall we say, susceptible to a little paranoia. So I rolled down the window and starting rifling the glove compartment to find the stuff and throw it out the window, and while I was freaking out X was telling me to calm down, calm down, he’s got this handled.

We pulled over and the state trooper came up to the window; I was there in the passenger seat vibrating like a plucked string and X was in the driver’s seat with his eyes bloodshot and stinking of marijuana smoke, calm as calm can be, and tipped me a big wink as he rolled down the window and starts to talk to the officer.

The CHP patrolman got one whiff of the atmosphere in the car and opened his mouth—to order us out of the car to be handcuffed, as I was sure—and X passed one hand across his field of view and said, “This is not the car you’re looking for.”

The patrolman looked too confused to say anything, and I’m too aghast to speak, and X makes his gesture again. “This is not the weed you’re looking for. You do not want to detain us.”

There’s a beat of silence. The patrolman now looks bemused. I look horrified. X looks at the patrolman. After a few seconds the officer stands up, leans over, stands up again, and says, “Thanks, sir, you two have a nice day,” and walks back to his car, and off we go.

[JWaterford]

I spent the next half-hour freaking out about what just happened while X said repeatedly “O ye of little faith” and shook his head. Finally he cracked his deadpan and started laughing at me. Right about the time he picked me up in Seattle he had figured out that I hadn’t realized that S’s new Second was a CHP officer, and he and S cooked the whole thing up between them. Which is a shame, because we could really use those mass-action switches.

[Phil]

Oh, man. I SO love it. I don't know who X is, but he's my new hero.

[Phil]

Oh, wait...a Second who was CHP circa 1980? Yeah, got it. Well played. *snork*

[JWaterford]

Well played, indeed. I never did come up with something to top that one.