Advice

It Wasn’t Me: Tips for Getting the Law off your Back

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Obviously the best tip on how to avoid arrest is “don’t do anything illegal,” but let’s face it. I am shocked when I find out that someone my age hasn’t had a brush with the fuzz. It’s like finding out someone hates fun: obviously thrills and chills are the only reason someone might get hassled by the cops. Or, you know, expired parking tickets. But paying bond is not exactly broke-ass friendly, so I am here to help you wiggle your way out of those pesky legal and fiscal mishaps. But please keep in mind that I am not a lawyer or a cop and you should not take my advice seriously by any means. I am just a girl who likes fun and occasionally has to hide in the bushes as a result. Ok. Let’s get it.

Pointing out idiocy will not help you.
My first encounter with the boys in blue happened when I was… 14? I was already rude as fuck back then and that did not work in my favor. See, this wasn’t even for anything actually harmful – I was out on a lake around 2 am or so, but I wasn’t even wyling that hard. I was there to take photos (I am a photographer in real life, when I am not thinking of bad advice to write on this website) of the lights skimming the water’s top and not smoking or drinking or fucking or doing anything that is Harming America’s Moral Character. Too bad that city has a goddamn curfew. And the lake closed at sundown.

Anyway. When I chose to indicate to the officer that what he was doing was, in fact, stupid and wasting resources that could be used in fighting real crime, he only got more irate and called my parents right up. Yikes. Consider me convinced, though: calling your officer a dumb pig will not improve matters.

If all else fails, play dumb. Really dumb.
It sucks to be a hapless moron. But sometimes, pretending to be ten IQ points away from drooling on yourself in public will get you home free because people generally feel bad for fools. In big cities, this means pretending to be a tourist. Say it with me now: “What? I didn’t know you couldn’t put your feet up on the subway. This big city is scary and I want to go home to Oklahoma.” My friend Mark came to visit me once, got bombed before we went out and proceeded to hop a turnstile in the 145th St. ABCD train station. My stomach knotted itself into origami when I heard the click of official sounding shoes and a low voice instruct him to keep his hands where he could see him. But Marky played a dumb tourist and got off with a tiny fine instead of getting arrested for being obliterated and clearly underage.

You could also pretend to be flustered and not know where you are or even pretend to be foreign. I’ve pulled that trick before. My last memory before falling down the stairs at Rocket Bar in DC is, upon being carded, slurring in a thick Russian accent that I “am not citizen” and that I “do not have driver’s license.” They let me in because I was full of clear liquid courage which is obviously endemic to the Slavic countries.

Just go with your gut
The most hilarious and ridiculous situation I have ever witnessed involving a near-arrest happened to my good friend Alex. She was bombed and leaving a bar in mid-Missouri, where there is an open container law, with a cup full of rum in her hand when she was stopped by a not-so-friendly member of the fuzz. He asked her what was in the cup, at which point she gestured at the apartment buildings next door to the bar and said, “it’s a plastic cup I filled with Diet Coke at home!” and he inquired about the telltale restaurant straw sticking out of it. Alex is a clever and high pitched girl. She looked at him and shrieked, I shit you not, “it’s to protect my TEEEETH!” He let her go.

The moral of the story is, most of the time this shit is a random thing. Do what feels right unless you are too gone to know what your name is. If that’s the case, shut your yap and do not say anything. And remember: whatever your excuse to get naked in public is, it will probably not be good enough. Put your pants back on.

Do you have any good tips on not getting cuffed when you’re clearly doing wrong?

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Polina Yamshchikov - Flirt Poor

Polina Yamshchikov - Flirt Poor

Polina is Siberian by way of Alabama, and therefore cannot pronounce "fire" or "iron" correctly but despite this can still woo men with her cooking skills and enormous Russian cheeks. She can usually be spotted on the streets of Brooklyn either yelling into a cell phone in one of five languages or swilling gin at an inappropriate hour of the morning.