On a side note, it's somewhat staggering how many relationships die as a result of Facebook and text messages. Granted, if your significant other is spying on your wall and sneaking your cell phone to check its messages, your relationship was probably in trouble anyway.
Back to the story. This couple got into an argument while driving home and the lady became so upset that she began beating her husband while he was driving. This turned out exactly as you expect, though to a less dramatic degree, and the couple was pulled over by suburban police for driving erratically. When the police realized that the driver wasn't drunk and why he was driving like he was they called for the urban police department for two reasons:
1.) Police are lazy
2.) Domestic violence cases are a pain in the ass and nobody wants to deal with that.
So the urban po po show up. They observe two suburb police cars in the parking lot of a fried chicken establishment. The vehicle they pulled over was a Volkswagen Beetle. The new version with the cramped "we're in a rocket capsule going to the moon" cabin. The young man driving this vehicle stood 6'5" and weighed in at a healthy 370 lbs. Naturally the first question was "How did you fit in there?". And just as naturally this was answered with a healthy "Fuck you.". He relates his story and the urban police move on to the lady. This young lady stands about 5'10" and a good 320 lbs. And again, the first question was "How on Earth did you both fit in there? And get your arms up to hit him?" This was met with the exact response you'd expect. "Fuck you.". She relates her story, which mirrors the one above, and is placed under arrest for domestic abuse.
At this point we need to examine a bit of history. The most commonly envisioned police cruiser is a family sized Ford Crown Victoria, first put into use by various police departments somewhere around 1950. Other common vehicles are Intrepids (which look to me like little flying saucers), Chevy Impalas, and perhaps currently the most widely in use, the Dodge Charger. All of these vehicles are four door sedans, but they are not all built to the same technical specifications. Anyone who's seen a Charger driving down the highway will notice that it's quite a bit larger than an Impala or Intrepid. I can't say I've seen one drive next to a Crown Vic, though I'd bet the Ford would give a good run in the cabin space dept.
The vehicle that was going to be transporting our young lady was going to be a 2005 Chevy Impala. Without a cage this probably wouldn't be terribly hard if you shoved the passenger seat all the way forward. With a cage there is about 2 feet of clearance to get into the car. The prisoner first tried to enter the car the traditional way, one leg at a time just like pants. This did not work. Then she tried backing in. I know all of you just had that beep you hear when trucks back up playing in your heads and you should know you're horrible people. But that's basically what it was like. It also didn't work. Eventually it was decided that the best way to try and force this fit was to have her enter head first, on her side, and worm in like.... well... a worm. It was the best fit, but she still got stuck.
In every job there is always that guy who's a complete asshole. Whether he's the guy who jacks your lunch from the break room fridge, or the guy who lets the coffee pot boil tar dregs instead of making a fresh pot when he takes the last cup, it's unavoidable that one day you will work with this person. I suspect that there's some kind of hiring quota every HR department must fill. Or perhaps it's the offices themselves that are haunted by the spirit of soul sucking asshole and some poor chump must be the vessel through which it is channeled. Either way, this guy was there and had some helpful advice as to how to make this prisoner fit in a car. And it wasn't to call for a larger car. Officer Ass runs into the fried chicken establishment (Yay Chekhov's Gun) and returns with whatever cheap fast food industrial equivalent of Crisco they have and proceeds to.... lubricate is the right word.... the inside of the patrol vehicle. Though incredibly pissed off, the prisoner fits, with the assistance of two people pushing and one pulling from either side of the vehicle.
You should know that cages typically have some kind of grill through which officers can speak with prisoners in the back seat. Most of the cage is steel and plexiglass, but the grill can be iron, plastic, whatever so long as air and sound passes through it. In this case I will only say that trying to drive while fat, squeezed through the grill like Satan's Jello or Play Doh, jiggles in the corner of your eye every time you hit a small bump.
If you ever spray down a cooking pan with Crisco or Pam or whatever and let it sit you discover that it loses some of it's slippery properties, even on Teflon. It's a minimum 20 minute drive to jail. After trying to explain to an incredulous jail staff that their help is needed to unwedge the prisoner from a vehicle it took a whopping 6 people to get her out.
Crisco, Teflon, Pam and other proper nouns are owned by their respective owners.
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