One time, I chased a robber. This makes me sound a lot more badass than I really am.
See, it was the summer after my freshman year of college. I'd just filled my rusty little hatchback with the contents of my dorm room. I'd use the word "packed," except that this connotes some kind of organization, and I had none. I was too busy flirting with guys and cheating at euchre to do something silly like PACK. And then I drove to my mom's townhouse. By the time I got there, I was starving, and the house was empty. Mom was out, and there was nothing to eat unless you count cottage cheese, which I do not.
I hate cottage cheese with the fire of a thousand suns.
So I walked to Arby's. We didn't have an Arby's on campus, and I have always been addicted to their baked potatoes with everything. I love potatoes so much that Slayer once gave me one for Christmas. I had this sentimental attachment to it and refused to eat it, which was a bad move on my part. Diamonds last forever, but potatoes do not.
Although I'd still rather have a potato if given the choice.
I walked to Arby's and returned with my potato and a Dr. Pepper. I am now beginning to regret telling this story because I am now hungry.
My car was parked right outside the door, and the neighbors huge 80s van was right next to it. You know the kind of van I'm talking about. It was one of those purple monstrosities that look like it either belongs to a bunch of hippies or a serial killer who used to be a hippie. Either way, that thing was big.
And that's when I saw the guy crouching at the door.
It was probably a mistake for me to move all of my stuff in and leave it sitting in a heap in sight of the door. I had a stereo, a fridge, a microwave. I also had about 15 penis cozies because I used to crochet them for friends as gag gifts. And no, I never saw anyone model them. Most of them were purple. They matched the van.
Something tells me that the robber wasn't after the penis cozies.
Anyway, something inside of me snapped. I dropped my potato. My fists clenched. I barked out: "HEY! I see you!"
He ran behind the purple hippie van, and we danced a little. I watched his feet under the van and kept trying to intercept him, but he kept backing away from me. And finally, he took off running.
I ran after him. By this time, I was so hopping mad that I was shouting obscenities at him. I think I was less angry about the potential for losing my stuff and more angry at the fact that for a moment he scared me. I didn't stop to think about what I'd do if I did in fact catch him. He was a pretty big guy, and this was during my teaching-aerobics-and-dancing stage. (I did modern and jazz, not THAT kind of dancing, thankyouverymuch.) I was maybe 120 pounds on a good day. So I feel compelled to point out that while this story is hopefully amusing, please don't repeat my mistakes. I'm lucky I didn't get creamed.
Anyway, he ran a lot faster than me, because you know, he was scared that I was going to scold him to death. And then I threw my shoe at him. In his general direction, really; I was standing in the middle of the street and he was long gone by the time the shoe flew, but it made me feel better.
After scolding me, the police officer who came to take my statement asked for my autograph. Later, I figured out who the guy was. Apparently, petty thieves also like ugly purple vans.