The First Time I got Busted by the Cops

For some reason, lately every time I see the color green, this old memory comes flooding back.


I must've been nine or ten.  It was a perfect summer day, with perfect weather, in perfect Palo Alto, California, in my grandparents' perfect neighborhood.  I was riding my beyond amazing green banana seat bike with tall handlebars.  Proudly printed on the frame were the words "Dill Pickle," and the playing card I had clipped near my spokes was making the most satisfying purr.  My brother was seated behind me.  No helmets.  No worries.  Wind in our hair.  Bliss!

And then a police officer pulled up beside us and demanded that we stop immediately.  Which we most certainly did.


Police Officer:  "Only one passenger per seat."


I looked at my banana seat that clearly provided ample room for my bottom, my brother's bottom, and at least one more friend's bottom, and looked back at the cop.

I think it was at that moment that I realized that not all laws made make sense...or at least the bad ones shouldn't apply to me.

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