Behold the story of an unjust arrest. An arrest so unfair the force should officially apologise to an entire country, for the crime was only to be French.

But this is not just any story, this is my story, and it began quite innocuously as I entered a bank to deposit some money. I walked in quietly, wondering how long it would take me to be done with that deed: I had other things to worry about, my pesky brother for once. Soon after I arrived, I realised the security guards were all not-so-discreetly looking at me. Indeed, my misfortune was that this very bank had just been the victim of a robbery, hence, before long, the police were there. Deciding that my beret was some garment worthy of a James Bond villain, they arrest me at once. Handcuffed without a word of explanation, I am thrown into the party van, meeting two lovely Latino gentlemen contending they were there by mistake, and that they knew nothing of those sixteen TVs stacked in their shed. At the police station, I am taken away from my new friends, shoved into an interrogation room, and left there to wait patiently.



Two inspectors enter:

INSPECTOR MILLER: A cheese-eater has entered the premises (Laughing). Sit down Frenchy.

ME: (Offended) cheese-eater sounds a bit derogative…

INSPECTOR MILLER: Shut-up Clouseau, and start spilling the beans: what were you doing in that bank?

ME: I just wanted to run some errands, sir

INSPECTOR MILLER: Like what? Steal the Pink Panther? (Laughing) What were you really doing in that bank?

ME: Just making a deposit, nothing special.

INSPECTOR MILLER: I told you to sit down, Froggy, we are going to be here a while. I am inspector Miller, and here’s my associate, Collins.

ME: Is this the good-cop/bad cop routine? Because so far, I can only see good cop/mall cop…

INSPECTOR MILLER: Collins, the handcuffs, maybe he’ll stop being so cocky.

ME: You are making a huge mistake: my embassy will hear about this. Kiss your dreams of being super mall cops goodbye!

INSPECTOR MILLER: One more comment about mall cops and we put you in the cell with the bikers, you’ll have fun I am tellin’ you.

ME: On what charges? Sassiness?

INSPECTOR MILLER: Stop joking around, do you know why we are here?

ME: Because you didn’t finish high school?

INSPECTOR MILLER: Ok, that’s bikers for you pal! But before that, we have a few questions. Where were you yesterday between seven and ten pm, no lies?

ME: Yesterday I was having a bit of me time with the old Merlot friend in my bathtub, what’s wrong with that?

INSPECTOR MILLER: Apart from the fact that real men drink beer, your alibi doesn’t hold, nobody can confirm it.

ME: What happened to innocent until proven guilty? Anyway, it looks like you are going to take forever to realise I am innocent, can I at least get something to eat?

INSPECTOR MILLER: What do you want, croissants?

ME: Well, it is seven pm now; a croque-monsieur and some wine would be better.

INSPECTOR MILLER: (sarcastically) Ohhhh monsieur wants a glass of wine… this is a police station mister; there is no Sauvignon Blanc here.

ME: A police station without booze? Who’s lying now?

INSPECTOR MILLER: Collins turn-off the camera, I want a face-to-face with the French Resistance.

INSPECTOR COLLINS: (turns off camera.)

ME: Ohh you’re going off books, well, not like you’ve ever read any…

INSPECTOR MILLER: (hits me.)

ME: Who taught you how to punch? Your boyfriend?

INSPECTOR MILLER: (Hits harder.)

ME: Ok, ok, I get the message, you’re the bad cop. What must I do to prove that I didn’t steal anything?

INSPECTOR MILLER: We have collected some evidence at the crime scene, recognise that (hands over cigarette butts)?

ME: Hmmm, interesting… not the brand I fancy myself, but I think the thief might be French indeed… Have you seen those cigarette butts? Gauloises without a doubt. It’s a special kind of cigarette, full of tar, not for women.

INSPECTOR MILLER: (Smells it) Who the hell would smoke this?

ME: Real men, I wouldn’t expect you to understand.

INSPECTOR MILLER: Interesting, I feel like we are getting somewhere… He doesn’t look like he’s lying; Collins, show him the rest of the evidence.

INSPECTOR COLLINS: (show pink scarf).

ME: That scarf, I know it…

INSPECTOR MILLER: One of your ex-girlfriends?

ME: It’s a man’s scarf idiot… No this is my brother’s… François, why?

INSPECTOR MILLER: Your brother’s? How do you know it’s him? Where can we find him?

ME: See the initials there? F.P. ? That’s for Francois Petit, I gave him that scarf ages ago, and haven’t seen him since. Last I heard, he got busted on that bakery heist two years ago; he’s supposed to be locked up in a cell with you guys.

INSPECTOR MILLER: We have a profile, Collins; I want every cop in this damn city looking for the renegade brother! You, Froggy McBaguette, out of my sight! You are free for now, but if we hear you had any contacts with your amphibian brother, you are back in here, and we won’t be this nice next time!

So there I was, finally free from a crime I had nothing to do with. I left the police station, a bit shaken by how the afternoon turned out, I just wanted to deposit some money after all. As I walked back home I pulled out a smoke, a Gauloise, my favourite brand, and thought: what a day, what a day. But hey, I am rich now, and I sure am glad they found my scarf…♦