Long story short, we were heading to Nation's for some g-rub and while talking about the state of the Filipino community next year, a cop pulls us over. Mind you, it was about 2:30 am and no one is on the streets because of two reasons:
1. It's Oakland, California.
2. It's Oakland, California at 2:30 am.
We all look at each other, sure that the driver was getting a fat ticket. The hunger went away. Re-enactment:
Driver: "How's it going officer?"
Cop: "Why are you driving so fast?"
Driver: "Was I, I wasn't aware officer."
Cop: "You were going 40 on a 30."
Driver: "For real? My bad officer."
Cop: "Where you heading to?"
Driver: "Nation's. We just came from SF."
Cop: "Let me see your license."
Driver: "Sure."
Cop leaves back to his car, I didn't say a word as I sat on the passenger seat. I stared at the black and white behind me, willing for him not to start writing. For what seemed like an hour, he stood outside his squad car's door; he seemed deep in a moral tug of war: whether to be a jerk or to let us go and use the money we would have used for the ticket for some Strawberry Tart. He comes back.
Cop pulls out his gun...
PSYCHE! This was added for suspense.
Cop comes back, does the right thing and let's us off with a warning.
We go to Nation's, ate heartily, and smiled, knowing that we could have been in jail, or worse, with an expensive ticket. Exciting.
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