Friday morning, I’m still lying in bed. A knock on the door . “Just a moment!” I call, pulling my pants up. My housemate stands at the door: “There are two police officers to see you,” he says.
Share
“What the hell do they want,” I’m thinking as I walk to the door. The cops want to know why I dumped my car on one of Delft’s streets. They are pleased to tell me that my car’s been towed to Soesterberg (where’s that?) and I must pay the towing and parking fees. Which is quite strange, because never in my life have I owned a car. According to the officers, the car’s registered in my father’s name, which is even stranger . the guy’s never been to Holland! I’m starting to question my sanity, the sanity of the cops and whether it’s actually April 1st. But it’s all dead serious. Now I must “prove I’m not a goat”, or, in other words, to prove that the stupid Opel Cadet has nothing to do with me. The cops are convinced I’m lying, and probably have a good reason. This morning I woke up in one of Kafka’s stories and the cops have obviously never heard of Habeas Corpus . I’m guilty until proven otherwise. The conversation goes in circles. Circle 5…:
Cop 1: “Why’s this car registered in your name, sir?”
Me: “How should I know? You’re the police aren’t you, do your detective work, I’ve never seen it in my life!”
Cop 2: “We did our research and according to our system, the car’s registered in your name.”
Me: “You just said it was in my father’s name.”
Cop 1: “Yes, it’s registered in his name at the Delft Municipality.”
Me: “Right, my dad lives secretly in Delft, without the family’s knowledge.”
Cop 2: “Could you call him then?”
Me: “He’s 5,000 kilometers away, officer, and has NEVER been to The Netherlands!”
Cop 1: “How come he owns a car here then?”
Me: “What do you want me to do, hire Sherlock Holmes to find out?”
Cop 1: “The towing company in Soesterberg will want to collect the fees from you.”
Me: “Maybe they should visit my father at his address here in Delft.”
Cop 2: “So could you call him then?”
Me (silently): “Gadverdamme!”
Eventually I picked up the phone. My pa, a time zone away, was of course still in bed. I had to wake him up on his birthday and ask whether he secretly owns a little red car in Holland. He laughs his ass off when I tell the story. He’s certainly got a better sense of humor than the cops, but at this point I don’t find it as funny as he does. After another half hour I finally get rid of the police, saying I’ll press charges so they can find out how this ridiculous situation could have happened. A quarter of an hour later they call to ask what my father’s birth date is. Luckily for me, it’s not the same as the real owner of that little red Opel Kadett.
Michael Afanasyev, Russia/Israel, Aerospace Engineering
Friday morning, I’m still lying in bed. A knock on the door . “Just a moment!” I call, pulling my pants up. My housemate stands at the door: “There are two police officers to see you,” he says. “What the hell do they want,” I’m thinking as I walk to the door. The cops want to know why I dumped my car on one of Delft’s streets. They are pleased to tell me that my car’s been towed to Soesterberg (where’s that?) and I must pay the towing and parking fees. Which is quite strange, because never in my life have I owned a car. According to the officers, the car’s registered in my father’s name, which is even stranger . the guy’s never been to Holland! I’m starting to question my sanity, the sanity of the cops and whether it’s actually April 1st. But it’s all dead serious. Now I must “prove I’m not a goat”, or, in other words, to prove that the stupid Opel Cadet has nothing to do with me. The cops are convinced I’m lying, and probably have a good reason. This morning I woke up in one of Kafka’s stories and the cops have obviously never heard of Habeas Corpus . I’m guilty until proven otherwise. The conversation goes in circles. Circle 5…:
Cop 1: “Why’s this car registered in your name, sir?”
Me: “How should I know? You’re the police aren’t you, do your detective work, I’ve never seen it in my life!”
Cop 2: “We did our research and according to our system, the car’s registered in your name.”
Me: “You just said it was in my father’s name.”
Cop 1: “Yes, it’s registered in his name at the Delft Municipality.”
Me: “Right, my dad lives secretly in Delft, without the family’s knowledge.”
Cop 2: “Could you call him then?”
Me: “He’s 5,000 kilometers away, officer, and has NEVER been to The Netherlands!”
Cop 1: “How come he owns a car here then?”
Me: “What do you want me to do, hire Sherlock Holmes to find out?”
Cop 1: “The towing company in Soesterberg will want to collect the fees from you.”
Me: “Maybe they should visit my father at his address here in Delft.”
Cop 2: “So could you call him then?”
Me (silently): “Gadverdamme!”
Eventually I picked up the phone. My pa, a time zone away, was of course still in bed. I had to wake him up on his birthday and ask whether he secretly owns a little red car in Holland. He laughs his ass off when I tell the story. He’s certainly got a better sense of humor than the cops, but at this point I don’t find it as funny as he does. After another half hour I finally get rid of the police, saying I’ll press charges so they can find out how this ridiculous situation could have happened. A quarter of an hour later they call to ask what my father’s birth date is. Luckily for me, it’s not the same as the real owner of that little red Opel Kadett.
Michael Afanasyev, Russia/Israel, Aerospace Engineering
Comments are closed.