Tonight's epic police escort home

I'm trying to stop my heavily palpitating heart from jumping through my sternum as I recount the last hour's events to my parents. They are highly impressed and holding back questions. This is my one and only true police encounter, and it involves no underage drinking, drugs, or college partying whatsoever (what else would you expect from such an uncorrupted young lady?)

When pulling out of my driveway with a friend at 10:30 p.m., we encountered a strange car running in my neighbor's adjoining driveway.  I continued to the street, turned towards the main road, en route to my friend's house. The car began to follow us. Five minutes later, it was still proceeding to follow us and across town, the same thing.

Instead of pulling into my friend's driveway, I told her not to be totally alarmed (although I was sweating, playing over chase scenes from The Town in my mind), but that someone had been following us and I was not comfortable dropping her off. We looped back to the main road, moving quickly all the while, crushing speed bumps, and with the pursuant still on our tail.  freeeeakin outttt.  Once on the main road, I sped towards the police station, because neither of us had cell phones to call the police (I know what you're thinking: social suicide, right? I could've missed, like, two bbms!).  Meanwhile, the car behind me is swerving over the double yellow lines, almost scraping my bumper and not slowing donw.

Once peeling into the police station lot, he passed to the right of my parked vehicle, which allowed me to see his car and note the make, color and plates (SCHWING! Points for Annie Bond).  A few minutes later, I calmly pulled around the police building to exit the parking lot and came upon the car- parked in the one way exit, lights on, engine running.  Twenty feet behind it, I checked the plates again and thought about pulling my car half off the road and onto the grass to just blaze by him.  But no, he wouldn't let me slip away so easily with such a stunt.

The guy got out of his green Jimmy (I felt so confident in my Ford Explorer [great 4x4 in the snow]) and stood there smugly, my headlights drowning his scraggly figure in his over sized gray sweatshirt and work boots.  He was roughly my height and, I thought, if he didn't look like he would maybe vomit on me, I would try to take him.  Out of our windows we asked him what his problem was, and, without advancing towards us, he said to back up and go back to the police station where a cop was being sent over.  He asked us why we were running. He did not provoke us, but told us to go wait for the police to come, continuing to suggest that we "knew why" he was calling us in.  Backing up, I hoped Mr. Crazypants DID call the police, so they would come and take him off our hands.

We bolted around the building to the entrance of the parking lot and fled to my friend's house to call the police, frantically checking my rear view for his lights.  An officer came over and talked to us, confirmed the description, immediately recognized the "townie character" and promised he would find and talk to him tonight.  After giving him my D.O.B. and other personal stats (cell phone, marital status, preferred romantic restaurant in town), my hero of the night guided me home.

I have never felt so important as when reporting the incident to the dispatch officer on the phone, articulating each action in brief detail.  For a moment, it felt as though my glorified car chase through Manchester-by-the-sea was REAL crime-crushing material.  As if Annie was putting an end to exploitation, drug trafficking and rape (whoa, no need to applaud yourself there, kiddo).  In reality, I drove my friend home safely and got a healthy adrenaline rush from an old drunk Jimmy driver.  PRETTY EXCITING STUFF FOR A SMALL TOWN GAL.

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