Mugshot

I realize I’ve been doing a lot of posts in the last day or so, but I had an fairly eventful Wednesday that I never blogged about and it is too good to not blog about.

Because Mom and Dad had symphony rehearsal, Michelle and I played the supportive family role and went to Alison’s first marching band performance and then William’s football game.

The marching band night was fun, we shadowed the players and laughed that the band-isms that I doubt will ever die. I felt a sad sense of nostalgia as I watched the Colorguard gracefully frame ad band and add a visual interest that honestly makes marching band what it is. But as soon as they showed the families “how they rehearse” I mocked them all in my heart and triumphantly cheered in my head, “Never again! Haha! Poor unfortunate souls! Stuck on the field, in the heat, rain snow and sleet!” I suppose I’m just a little bit glad that that chapter of my life has come to a close. It was fun while it lasted.

After we rushed to Will’s game and I discovered that I don’t know where Orem High is (as embarrassing and humbling as that is). They got creamed royally. But they all looked cute in football pants…

When Jeff and I went to drop off Michelle and Erin, Michelle realized that she didn’t have her keys. Classic. They decided to use the spare. Erin exited the car first and as soon as Michelle got out with a sad, discouraged look on her pouty face, I turned to Jeff and said “Let’s go find them!” We concluded that this would be a good way to serve them and add a little sunshine to their dampened, dreary evening.

We drove to Timpview, thinking that’s probably where she lost them. The gate as locked, the lights were off, but Jeff and I are both experienced fence-hoppers and didn’t feel the least bit impaired as we shimmied over the chainlink and dropped down onto the other side. Together we walked over to the west-bleachers, got out our pseudo-phone-flashlights and began searching for said keys. After repeated checking, we turned up empty handed and decided that going on the field (a likely resting spot for the keys) was a lost cause since it is so vast, our light source was so pathetic, and it was getting so late. So we plodded back up the hill to the fence and began climbing up it. I was straddling the top of the fence when a stern voice echoed from the asphalt patio below the field, “Hey! Stay where you are!”

Great.

Jeff and I finished getting over the fence but “stayed where we were.” I turned to Jeff and joked, “Should we put our hands up?” But we waited while a dark, stocky figure walked up to use while holding his much-too-bright flash light on our shocked, yet amused faces. He came around and unlocked the gate with all the authority a night guard at a high school could have, and walked up to us. We tried apologizing but he only answered our explanations and expressions of regret with, “You hopped a locked gate.” “We know, we didn’t think—” “You ignored the sign that indicated the track was closed.” “We’re sorry we only needed to—” “You’re trespassing.” “We just came to try and find my sis—” “It’s after dark. Stand over there.” He pointed to a few feet behind us and then pulled out is phone.

Perfect.

He opened it and held it close to my face. It hit me. He’s taking my picture. The sheer humor of it all tickled my funny bone and I let a snicker escape my lips. “You think this is funny?” Did I? I couldn’t imagine what could have been funnier at this moment to be honest. Should I answer honestly? Probably not a good idea right now… “No. Sorry.” I lied. I just got a mugshot! Not only that, I just got a mugshot ON A CAMERA PHONE. He then turned to Jeff and took his picture. How couldn’t this be funny? He then took our names and told us authoritatively that he “Will be reporting us to the administration.”

Now that’s a funny thought.

That was the cherry on top for me. I could only imagine the kick that the administration would get out of seeing my smirking face looking up at them from a pixilated camera phone picture on their desk with the name PAIGE CROSLAND written in a big black scrawl right next to it. They know both Jeff and I well, and we drove away laughing, but empty-handed. Poor stranded keys.

Fabulous.