continued from last week . . .
So there I was at 4 AM, drunk, with no clue where the cops had taken my roommate, who'd been arrested after diving across the hood of a police car to catch a football. I made a few phone calls to friends, who were like, "You're incoherent," and then I passed out and woke up the next morning in a panic. Finally, I figured out what police station he was at. My friend goes by Lee, but his real name's Tommy Lee. When I got to the station and asked for him they said, "Nobody here by that name." When I tried Tommy Lee, the police officer's eyes widened and he went, "Oh, John Doe. We got this kid who doesn't know his address and he keeps changing his name from Lee to Tommy Lee and back again," he said. "We had to separate him from the other guys because he was talking so crazy." They were about to ship him off for a 72-hour evaluation at a psych ward. I immediately vouched for him and showed them his driver's license and everything. So they pulled him out; he was in boxer shorts and a T-shirt and there were big Xs on his hands to show that he was a psychiatric risk. He was hungover, exhausted, scared, and ready to move back to the suburbs immediately. Six hours here and he's in jail and about to be shipped off to a psych ward--can you blame him?
--Rob Wheelhouse, mortgage banker