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CSI: Wimbledon
I was recently arrested for carrying an illegal weapon. Those of you who know me will suspect that this was some large hunting knife or perhaps a ground-to-air missile launcher; perfect for clearing the seats at a world tennis championship. Those of you who don't know me, really don't know me and you will never, never, ever know me. It was a small Leatherman multitool; more a glorified pair of pliers than anything else, however it did have a folding blade.
The British Lawn Tennis Association (bastards) had gone on the cheap this year and instead of using the local police force to police the event (the clue is in the name you morons!) they had brought in El Cheapo Securicorpse to do the security and the police as back-up. Now, I'm not the criminal mastermind some would believe me to be and I did not go along to Wimbledon with the express intention of stabbing anyone other than Mary Pierce for being such a snooty little diva, nor did the Securicorpse bag searcher uncover a secret compartment within my bag with an ounce of diamonds and purest cocaine. No, I handed the weapon over.
Let me just make sure you all understood that; I HANDED IT OVER! Immediately. Upon stepping forwards to have my bag searched. I handed over the tool, blade folded away and declared that I had it with me and that I knew they would need to dispose of it. I've been through airports since 9/11 with scissors or box cutters and handed them over, apologising for having them with me. The lady asked me to wait, went away and then came back with a cop, who promptly arrested me for being honest.
What made the item illegal was not the length of the blade, which was less than 5 inches, but that the blade locked into place. How stupid is this? How many people have knives that wobble around on the handles? What use would that be? You'd end up cutting your own fingers off.
Now, the British Lawn Tennis Association (bunchacunts) had decided that because of a previous incident involving a stalker/knife/stabbing that anyone found to be in possession of such an item would not simply have the item confiscated, but that the person would also be arrested. The police took care of that part after the world's greatest rent-a-detective had outfoxed me in a keen battle of wits; ie: taking the proferred item from my outstretched hand. Oh that cunning little minx!
I was arrested without the need for cuffs (this is middle-class England, that simply wouldn't be cricket!) and taken to the nearby meatwagon and back to the large white tents we'd stood queuing beside several hours previously. The arresting officer was a charming gentleman, community-minded, formerly a hotelier, disliked chavs in hoodies, advocated the fascist police-state philosophy... no seriously, for about an hour he tried to convince us that mandatory ID cards were the way forwards.
I was printed, DNA sampled, catalogued, barcoded, named and numbered. Then they drove me back to the front gates where a ticket had been reserved for me ("sorry for the inconvenience, sir") and I got into the grounds having only missed the first set of the first match of the day. And you know what the moral of this story is? If you're stupid enough to be honest then you get what you deserve.
As a footnote I should point out that by that point in the morning I was the eleventh person to be arrested for the same offense and that all eleven of us to that point were mid-twenty white men without prior offenses to our names. Elsewhere in the UK on the same day all the real criminals were taking drugs and beating each other up at Glastonbury.
Jul.12.2005