The time I got in a windowless van with a stranger.

A few weeks ago I had the absolute pleasure of being in my pal's Diane & Jon's wedding. At their rehearsal dinner, I was badgered by another bridesmaid into giving a toast (badger might be too strong a word since most people know the three things I love most in the world are: 1. telling stories and 2. making people laugh and 3. the spotlight) so I happily gulped the rest of my margarita and delivered my toast. In it, I told the following story which took place in the 10th grade. (Sidenote: at the wedding I was wondering why the groomsmen kept high-fiving me and telling me I was cool. Finally the groom told me that when I delivered my toast instead of saying "I'm one of Diane's Stone Ridge friends" (the name of our school), I said, "I'm one of Diane's stoner friends.")


Diane and I had just finished play practice. We were the resident drama nerds (something that did and continues to haunt us. Earlier this year when we chastised for ever believing that we could win Student Body President & Vice President (respectively) by the girl that actually won.)
DRAMA GEEKS.

But that's beside the point. Anyway, it was a crisp Fall day and rehearsal had just ended. Both of us were sitting outside (probably talking about the boys that Diane dated and not talking about the boys that didn't date me) and waiting for our parents to pick us up. I was excited cause I was on my way to Driving School (which is a story for another day & post) We were looking good, we were both in our school uniforms, we were both blonds and we were both rocking super awesome denim jean jackets.

While we were chatting, a windowless white utility van drove up the long driveway of our school. The young, handsome black man driving slowed when he reached us rolled down the window and said, "What's your name?"
We both stood their in shock and silence. He laughed.
"Sorry which one of you is Katie?" Neither of us said anything.
He tried again, "I was told to pick up a girl with blond hair and jean jacket so which one you is Katie? Your Mom sent me."

At this point, stunned into silence, all I remember thinking is "Pancake!" As a small child I was a perpetual worrier. I was constantly worried that someone would kidnap me from my room in the night. I was positive that every time my parents spent an evening out they would end up killed in a car accident and leave me an orphan. I was scared of the guy with the motorcycle down the street. I cried at sleepovers of any kind and once physically made myself sick in order to go home early. I also spent most of the 3rd grade convinced that my parents weren't really my parents but that my babysitter was my actual mother and it was all just a great scam to trick Katie into a life of agony. So when Pancakes popped into my mind it was because when I was a small child (and I mean young, like 7), I remember reading an issue of Readers Digest that had an article about protecting your children from predators. In this issue they said that every family should have code word in case of an emergency and the parent needs to send someone else to pick the child up. The author of the article and his kid had chosen "Pancake" as their safety word.

It would work like this, "Hey Billy, it's me Mrs. Smith from across the street. Your Dad sent me to pick you up!"
"What's the word, Mrs. Smith?" Billy would ask.
"Pancake!"
If Mrs. Smith didn't know the word, Billy would know that she was a child molester and mustn't go with her.

Even at 7 I remember thinking, "This is a stupendous idea and since it seems like my parents aren't going to do it, I must remember to shelve this until I have kids... that is if I survive this childhood with all it's pitfalls."

So there I am at 15 wearing a denim jacket, staring at a strange man in a windowless white van who is telling me that my mom sent him and all I can think about is pancakes when Diane leans over to me, breaking me out of my spell and says "Um, I don't think you should get in the van." True friend.

Eventually I did get in the van. He called my mother on a ham radio who assured me that she was working late and I should go with him to driving school. And he was a nice guy, he befriended my parents and even moved me into my dorm freshman year of college. So the next time a total stranger drives up to you while your standing next to your best pal and asks you to get in, I hope you do get in, drive straight to iHop and get some pancakes.

The time I rode around with APD

A few weeks ago I had the chance to spend my Saturday night riding around with an officer of the Austin Police Department. It was honestly one of the most fun things I've done in ages. The officer was super open and friendly so I ended up getting a TON of audio which I'm currently editing.

Below is the story of the time I rode around with the APD:

It’s 3 AM and Officer Adam Krueger is exhausted. He has just pulled into the gated parking lot of the Clinton Hunter Police Station, a substation in Southeast Austin after an almost 10 hour shift. In the last 45-minutes alone he has dealt with drunks, people fighting who were drunk and a middle-aged man who was so drunk he needed to call his mom to come pick him up. He is yawning and as he moves his gear from his patrol car into his personal pick up truck, another officer pulls up next to him and blows his siren. Everyone jumps and is still for a moment before the laughter starts. They’ve made it through another night.

“Some of the officers I work with are the best people I know,” says Officer Krueger. He has just finished briefing his back up officer who was called in to help with a domestic disturbance. A maintenance worker at a Southeast Austin apartment complex got into an argument with one his residents. The resident -a Texas A&M fan- was offended when the maintenance worker threw up the University of Texas at Austin hook ‘em horns hand sign. Both officers work the area known as Frank-2, the area bordered by Ben White, 1-35, South Congress and William Canon. It is a mostly Hispanic area and the language barrier often leads to frustration and confusion among the non-Spanish speaking officers, Officer Krueger included.

At 25, Officer Krueger does not fit the seasoned, beer-bellied stereotype typically conjured when one thinks of a police officer. He is a tall, muscular and imposing figure juxtaposed with a baby-face typical of someone much younger. “I hate that stereotype… that we’re all overweight or we don’t take care of ourselves.”

*****

Brent has just been pulled over for jaywalking. Before he spots Brent illegally crossing against the light at the corner of Pleasant Valley and William Cannon, Officer Krueger explains that because of an increase in accidents involving pedestrians this year, there has been a push on behalf of the Austin Police Department to crack down on illegal street crossing. He is quick to follow up saying, “But it’s not a quota. We don’t have quotas.”

At 30, Brent looks like young Ricky Schroeder. He hands his license over and Officer Krueger takes it back to his car. In a matter of moments, all known information about Brent is blinking across the screen, including an old mug shot where he has shoulder length hair. The picture of the young boy staring back from the screen looks nothing like the man sitting in front of the police cruiser, visibly nervous and chain smoking cigarettes. Officer Krueger finishes writing a summons and walks over to the sidewalk. Brent puts out his cigarette and stands up ready to make one last argument. His attempt is brief and ends with Brent taking the ticket saying, “I understand. I’m not trying to make your job any harder.” Just then another man walks across the same intersection, Brent points and shouts, “Look! Go get him!” The two men smile and Officer Krueger gets back into the car. As Brent walks off, Officer Krueger muses, “Of course it’s going to make (him) upset. But, so does everything else we do.”

Most of what Officer Krueger does is mediate. He mediates between neighbors and gang members, between relatives and strangers, between deer and I-35. The truth is that the police are the net through which so much falls through. For a young officer like Kruger, who has not even finished his second year on the force, it is still a balancing act. Halfway through the night, he responds to a noise complaint call in Southeast Austin. It is a new apartment complex and the noise is coming from a long hallway filled with revelers. “Break it up,” Officer Krueger shouts to the college-aged kids and young 20-somethings holding red Dixie cups. With an officer as imposing and tall as Krueger, the partygoers waste little time dispersing. He knocks on the door of the apartment “Whose apartment is this?” he demands. Another partygoer sticks his head out.

“You gotta shut it down for the night. Everybody.” says the officer.

“Yeah?” asks the man in the door.

“Yeah,” Officer Krueger nods.

“Kick everybody out?” the man presses.

“If I…” Officer Krueger relents, “Y’all can stay here as long as it’s quiet."

“I’m so sorry,” another young man interjects. He has just emerged from the apartment. He’s glassy-eyed and introduces himself as Erwin. He apologizes and explains that it’s his 23^rd birthday party. “I’m really sorry about this,” he apologizes again. The officer takes down his information and walks back out to the car.

Like most people his age, Officer Krueger still has a lot of living to do. He is not married, doesn't have children, he has lived in Texas his whole life and he has yet to complete the Masters degree he abandoned halfway through to join the academy. In the middle of the sirens and handcuffs and police badges, it is easy to forget that Officer Krueger was Erwin’s age just two years ago. Back in the car, Officer Krueger reflects on Erwin’s birthday party. “You know, I’ve been on the other side of that before.” He then continues, “But I had common sense.”