Chickasha, where USAO is located, is a rather sleepy town where everything but Taco Bell and Walmart closes early. Since there's hardly anything to do at night, my friends and I would take long walks through the neighborhoods surrounding our school's campus. We were out doing just that on this particular night, and we had brought along my friend Jay, who happened to be visiting from out of town. For some reason Jay and I together seem to draw in trouble like a magnet. I blame that on what happened as we were walking back toward campus.
Here we see 4 out of 5 of the persons involved in said walk. Jay is the one who appears to need to pee.
Police cruisers seemed to be in abundance around USAO that Saturday night, and every one of them would slow down as it passed so the officer could glare at us like we were a bunch of hooligans. Finally it occurred to us that Chickasha High School was holding its prom at USAO that night, and those students genuinely were hooligans, hence the heightened police circuiting the school.
Since Chickasha happens to be a very redneck town, all the prom-mobiles probably looked something like this.
Eventually one of those police cars slowed to a stop next to us as we walked down the wide median and the officer glared at us in a manner I assume he picked up in police academy. I attempted to glare back. Jay and my fiancé (now husband) Shaun walked up to his car and asked if there was a problem. The officer continued to glare for a moment, then asked a question that will stick in my mind 'til I die:
"Have you seen a Mexican on a bicycle?"
Did he steal your donuts, sir?
We all stared incredulously for a moment as crickets chirped in the background. Just as Jay was saying "no...should we be worried?" the police officer's radio crackled to life with the words "He's on Arizona!" and off he sped.
We continued on our stroll, pondering all the crimes this Mexican on a bicycle may have committed. Then we heard it.
Creak creak...creak creak.
All five of us stopped in unison and watched as a very large Mexican on a very tiny bicycle slowly pedaled his way down a cross street. It must have been a strange moment for him, seeing five college students standing open-mouthed and turning their heads as he passed like we were one organism.
Imagine this, only ghetto.
When he reached the other side of the wide intersection, he stopped and looked back at us just as a police cruiser turned onto the street and headed our direction. Immediately we realized he couldn't see the Mexican from his vantage point, and by golly we weren't going to let him get away. We sprang into action.
My reaction was to go running toward the cruiser, waving my arms and yelling. My friend Aiden followed. Meanwhile, Sunny jumped up and down where she was while Shaun and Jay pointed toward the cross street. Presumably after he surmised that we weren't leading him into a trap, the cop sped over and rolled down his window just in time to hear "He's on California!"
Off he sped once again, and soon we could see lights from multiple cruisers on the next cross street. We ran toward it just in time to see the Mexican being pushed up against one of the cars and handcuffed. We helped catch a wanted person!
We never did find out what crime the Mexican had committed, so I've had to come up with scenarios of my own to satisfy my imagination. It usually ranges from murdering a fellow patron at the classiest bar in Chickasha, a lovely heap of rotting wood called the Wan Dora, to throwing a bowling ball at an opposing team in the bowling alley. Whatever the case may be, I'm sure it was a sight to behold.