So once I went to Dairy Queen. (I’m partial to vanilla dipped in cherry.) As I was walking out of the restaurant a squad car, sirens blaring, screeched to a halt in the parking lot and two cops jumped out and grabbed a guy with scruffy brown hair leaning casually up against the front of the DQ waiting for his order. (He’d been in line in front of me only moments before.)
Naturally, I stuck around to watch the events that were about to unfold and to enjoy some soft serve on a beautiful summer’s day.
The police officers bent the guy over the hood of their car, frisked him and cuffed him. As they shoved him in the back seat of the cruiser, a pimply faced DQ employee walked up to “the perp” carrying a grease-stained paper bag. “Do you still want your burger?”
I kid you not.