Officer, it’s not my gun.
I was arrested at the Newark airport in 1984 for trying to board an airplane with a gun. I was on the road doing standup and I believed as long as it wasn’t loaded, I could take my 38 Special on the plane. That was not the case. I was arrested and handcuffed and put in the back seat of a police car. On the way to jail, I thought of all the things I could say to avoid having to include “convicted felon” on my resume. Things like: “I’ve already been on nine flights with my gun – what’s the problem?” -or- “I’m from L.A. so I’m pretty sure your New Jersey laws wouldn’t apply to me.” -or- “You can dust me for gun residue, I haven’t shot anybody.” -or- “When I said I killed them in Cleveland, I meant my act.” It never occurred to me to say, “Officer, it’s not my gun. And this is not my suitcase. And those things are what? Are you serious? Bullets? I thought they were gum!” Com’on!!
*To Guess my Mileage, go to the Sept. 1st posting – Three More Days!