CRIME AND PUNISHMENT

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Rest easy, America. The crime spree is over.

Yes, thanks to the eagle eye of law enforcement and the fact that I have a very poor getaway strategy, my foray into the dark underworld of crime has come to an abrupt end.

It all started when my wife and I went to get gas for the car. My mother-in-law was in town, so she stayed home with the kids while we skipped out to the gas station. Having two small children, a 10-minute trip to get gas constitutes a romantic getaway.

We were on our way home, almost to our house, when my cell phone rang. I saw it was a call from my home. When I answered, my mother-in-law said, “Uh, someone wants to talk to you.” About that time, I heard the Voice of the Law on the other end of the phone. Fortunately, the voice of this particular lawman belonged to someone I have known for most of my life, since we grew up about a block away from each other.

“Uh, Mike, did you just go and get gas,” he said.

“Yeah, why?”

“Did you forget to pay?’

At that point, I became a little distracted, since we were now in view of my house, and my wife was, let’s just say, freaking out a little bit, saying, “WHY IS THERE A POLICE CAR OUR DRIVEWAY!?!?!?!”

I did what I had to do, which is why I am writing this column in Belize.

Kidding, of course, I handled the manner in exactly the way you would, which was to say into the phone, “Uh...I...uh...well...I...”

My wife again said, ““WHY IS THERE A POLICE CAR OUR DRIVEWAY!?!?!?!” I soothed her by assuring her in my calmest voice, “It’s OK. We’re a gas drive-off.”

OK, perhaps a little more backstory would have benefited her. At this point, she was still concerned over the police car in the driveway, and even more concerned that we were also fugitives.

I pulled up to my house, and the officers told me that the store clerks had called in my license plate after I filled up the tank and left without paying. I told the officers that I had used the credit card machine on the pump, which if you care to venture back to an April 2004 column I wrote, you will see that I should have followed my own advice and NOT tried to use the machine.

The officer I grew up with found the entire ordeal very amusing. At this point, I did not know if I was going to be hauled into jail or something, perhaps taken to “Absent Minded Prison” or “Doesn’t Pay Attention Detention Center.” “So what do I need to do?” I asked.

“Uh, go back up and pay, maybe?”

Check.

When I got back to the store, I sheepishly went in and said to the two clerks, “Uh, I accidentally stole gas.” They stared at me with a puzzled look. “I was just up here,” I said, “ and I thought I had paid for my gas with the credit machine at the pump, but it apparently didn’t register. I’m back to pay for my gas, which I had every intention of doing the first go round.”

They told me that if you lift the lever BEFORE you put in the card, the card doesn’t register out there. Would have been nice to know. And while I usually get a receipt when I pay at the pump, I just simply forgot this time.

They must have thought I was one of the worst criminals of all time. Not being an experience gas-driver-offer, I’m not sure how most people do this, but I would assume they get gas and then get on a road so that they can split. I, on the other hand, turned and waited at a red light for a couple of minutes, so they could easily walk out and get my tag number. Heck, they could have walked up to my window and asked me to come back.

They were very nice and understanding, and I assured them that I would make double certain the next time that my card had cleared. Later, I asked my mother-in-law if she was a little unnerved seeing the police approaching the door while her daughter and son-in-law were out and about. “No,” she said, “because he was laughing pretty hard and said, ‘Do you have Mike’s cell phone number? I think he forgot to pay for his gas.’” I would bet this will be one of the easier solved crimes of his career.

But I have learned a valuable lesson regarding this, and I vow to walk the straight and narrow from here on out. Having spent time living the seedy life of a hardened criminal, I know that there can be serious ramifications. For one thing, the police laugh at you.