BOOTS WERE MADE FOR WALKIN’ :: It was about 9am on a bright Sunday morning and I was still dancing inside a dark club, a popular after-hours venue. I was in the booth of the DJ for whom I was working at the time, when suddenly my feet hurt.
The awesome pink high-heeled ankle boots I was in all night had reached their dancing limit, according to my feet.
It was time to change footwear (because I wasn’t about to stop dancing) so my girl friend and I decided to venture to out to the car in search of sensible shoes. On our way out, a close friend gave us his keys and asked us to get him a fresh t-shirt from his car because he’s that organized a party-goer.
I hobbled with my friend by my side into the hot sunny morning. Exchanging pink high heels for sneakers, I locked my car and went to get my friend his t-shirt.
We unlocked the car. I took a seat inside as my friend hunted for the t-shirt. I slipped a CD into the disc player, unfolding the sun visor to fix my lipstick in the mirror. That’s when I noticed two police officers on bicycles approaching us from behind. I calmly informed my friend of their approach.
She stopped searching; I folded the advisor up and put away my make-up. A female police officer approached my window and asked us to turn down the music. I did.
She then proceeded to ask us for ID, wanting to know who the car belonged to.
She then proceeded to ask us for ID, wanting to know who the car belonged to. My friend provided full ownership details, which were called in while we sat there waiting in the hot sun, wondering why all the fuss just because we had been partying and wanted to freshen up.
The officer then felt the need to tell us how bad this parking lot was for illicit behaviour – to which we expressed how shocked we were. We said we didn’t know that and that we were just in a hurry to park just to get our DJ to his gig on time – but assured her it (the dreadful changing of shoes and searching of t-shirt) would never happen again.
Not enough. Because then her partner, a male police officer, asked me to take off my sunglasses. He looked into my eyes.
“You’re fine.”
Then he looked into my friend’s eyes. “You know what causes pin sized pupils?” he said.
In unison we asked, “What?”
“Heroin.”
I jumped up and looked him in the eyes. “Okay, that’s ridiculous! She has sensitivity to bright light! So stop right there with your heroin suggestion.”
My friend proceeded to confirm this with the police.
The officers chatted with each other over the roof of the car, then started to warn us that we were “nice girls” and “shouldn’t be” in a parking lot “such as this” and nor at a venue “such as we were in”. They mounted their bikes and rode off.
My friend and I just sat there in silence for about a minute both wondering WTF.
I pulled down the sun visor again to finish applying my lipstick. My friend found the t-shirt.
Dirty deeds done we went back to the club to finish what we started.
What’s interesting about cops, laws, rules and judgements; people telling other people how to behave: In the end, it doesn’t matter what they think, say, what rules are made and are attempted to be enforced. Because everyone does what they want to do.
Like… wearing pink high heels until you can’t anymore.
– Dance floor royalty, Miss Raquel is publisher of Scenester magazine and host of The Miss Raquel Show. Join her on Twitter.
