Dead Ringers
Today, while riding my bike downtown, I was pulled over by a police officer. Naturally, it was my first inclination to assume that I had violated some minor traffic law, so I prepared myself for the possible troublesome necessity of paying a ticket (what with my finances stretched as they were). But no.
Instead he asked me to keep my hands where he could see them, and then informed me that apparently I matched the description of a robbery suspect; this suspect was described as a "big guy, dressed in black, and riding a bicycle." He was also, supposedly, armed with a gun.
Thankfully, some more descriptive details came to the officer as I was standing there quaking in terror. I gave him my phone number and he let me go.
Instead he asked me to keep my hands where he could see them, and then informed me that apparently I matched the description of a robbery suspect; this suspect was described as a "big guy, dressed in black, and riding a bicycle." He was also, supposedly, armed with a gun.
Thankfully, some more descriptive details came to the officer as I was standing there quaking in terror. I gave him my phone number and he let me go.