…I usually find this columnist at the other paper about as adept at story-telling as a DOS-era computer program, but every so often one falls into his lap. This is one of those yarns where all you have to do is just lay the fact out like cards in a solitaire game.
It reminded me of an incident a few years ago, where I went down to the garage to take a bike ride, hit the opener button and watched the door rise like a curtain on…a car, and not one of ours. Our garage opens directly onto the street behind us, and someone had obviously mistaken it for a parking place. But wait — someone was in the car. I tiptoed up on him, wondering if I’d find a guy shot through the chest or otherwise in dire need of help.
It was a young man, head tipped onto his right shoulder, sleeping like a baby. One hand was deep in his pants, no doubt clasping his weenie for some childlike comfort, the other wrapped around a plastic cup held between his thighs. I tapped on the window gently. No response. I tapped harder, and he stirred. His head moved to his left shoulder, but he didn’t wake up. I knocked as hard as I could, but no further response.
I called 911 and set off on my bike ride. By the time I returned home, his car was being attached to a tow truck and he was sitting in the back of the squad car, looking very, very bummed out. The cop on the scene said he was so drunk the inside of the car smelled like a distillery. I thought it was remarkable he managed to park so neatly, and not run into our garage door in the process. Apparently that didn’t cut any ice with the law.