Well, I'm about to leave and catch a plane, but I figured I'd post here about what happened to me this weekend. Just cause it was a bit out of the ordinary for me, not for any other reason. For the hell of it, if you will. So, without further ado, I give to you: My Story So, this is a story. A story of how I stopped trusting the police again, and how my friend Joe will now and forever be known simply as "Squad Car". Such a great nickname. Some background, first. My friend Kira is on tour with the Sounds of the Underground Tour, and was nice enough to get me onto the guest list (+1!) for the Chicago date. I was pretty excited, as I've been dying to see In Flames and Trivium live, plus seeing Gwar would be... interesting, no doubt. My friend Joe was also going to be in town from Florida this week, so he pushed his flight up a few days in order to be able to come with me to the show. His uncle even lent him a brand spankin' new all-black Cadillac for him to get around in. Very classy. So, we drove the Cadillac down towards the highway, and stopped at a gas station to get some gas. At this gas station there was a police car with two police officers in it. That is important. As we pulled out of the gas station, the cop car pulled up next to us, flashing its lights. Joe wasn't sure what they wanted, so he rolled down his window at which point the one cop yelled "Blue means pull over!" - so we did. Apparently the plates on the car didn't belong to it. Joe's uncle had warned him of this, but I guess it just didn't seem to register with either of us how bad of an idea it was to drive the car around. So. The cops were looking at two young kids in their early twenties, driving a brand new $40k+ Cadillac in one of the worst neighborhoods in Chicago. Oh, and Joe has a bunch of tattoos, too, which I'm sure didn't help matters. So yeah - drugs. Drugs, or a stolen vehicle. Or both! At one point, one cop even asked Joe "You know what this looks like, don't you?" Anyways, so the police interrogated Joe about why the plates were wrong. And I mean interrogated. This cop wouldn't accept Joe's explanation that his uncle had swapped the plates out, nor would he check if Joe was telling the truth (Joe knew what the right plates should have been, and what car the current plates we had were registered to - he also (thankfully) shares the same last name with his uncle. He gave up trying to sort it out, and had his partner talk to us. He seemed to understand what was going on, but they were still plenty suspicious as we weren't able to provide any sort of proof of insurance or registration or anything. Good times. So, the cops decided to stick us in their car until they could figure out what to do with us, and so that they could search the car for drugs. Yay. Let me tell ya, there's really no feeling like knowing you're totally out of control of a situation like I was. When I got out of the car, got patted down and quizzed by the cop (How do you know this kid? Do you know his uncle? You live in Chicago, but you have a Kansas (originally from there) license? You went to school with him in Florida, but you have a Kansas license and live in Chicago?), and then pushed into the back seat of their car, I was feelin' pretty numb. All I could think about was how I was gonna get to spend the rest of my weekend in a holding cell in a police station in a pretty bad part of Chicago. Yay. But, thankfully, the whole story checked out when the cops looked it all up on their little car computer. Then there came a pause, when they both sat up front and mulled it over, and finally they decided to let us go. We drove straight home, and abandoned the car in favor of public transportation. And that is the story of how I almost saw an awesome show, but instead spent time in the back of a police cruiser.