The Farmer and the Law

After a long day of shows and driving, we finally arrived at our cozy Days Inn in very small town in Tennessee, which bills itself as "The Sweetest Town in Tennessee." Maybe. Problem was, our location seemed to be very far away from all this "sweetness," as the only food options available to us were a McDonald's, a Burger King and a scary-looking little restaurant called the Family Waffle Kitchen, which boasted about the "big salad bar" and was missing four letters from its sign. Alaina and I ventured across the street to BK for burgers and sodas, and then headed back to the hotel, for there was little else to do on this strip. The internet was slow, so I headed out of the room for a phone call to my friend Diane, whose recent return from nearly three years in Rome meant some serious catching up.

My general M.O. when chatting with folks over the phone is to go wandering. I am definitely one of those people who will stroll up and down the sidewalks of New York, BlackBerry in hand, yapping about my day or whatever turn the conversation happens to take. And touring is no exception, except that, often, those sidewalks are replaced by hotel hallways and lobbies, or country roads.

My wandering this evening took me up and down the rural highway on which our hotel was located. I passed a Comfort Inn, a truck stop, the "Hill Top Motel" (guess where it was located?) and, finally, wound up in the parking lot of the Micky D's (which happened to be right next door to our Days Inn) as the conversation continued and continued. I found myself strolling the lot, sitting on the steps that led to the hotel, laying in the grass and just generally keeping myself moving. Night had fallen, and I didn't want to get too far from the hotel.

A few hours (yes, hours) in, a strange white SUV arrived in the parking lot, and started revving its engine at me. A gaunt, pale-white guy was seated behind the wheel, brow furrowed, staring directly at me. Unsure what this could be, I decided it was best to head back towards the hotel as casually as I could. I climbed the stairs between the two buildings and sat myself on the top, ensuring I was in a well-lit area, within eye-shot of the room I was sharing with Aaron that evening.

Next thing I knew, there was a flashlight in my face, held by a guy wearing a vest that said "POLICE" in reflective letters. A gun holstered at his side.

"Diane, I think I'm going to need to call you back."

And the questions started flying. Apparently, the McDonald's employees had reported a "bearded figure" hanging out in the parking lot near closing time and wanted police protections for... well, any number of reasons, I suppose. Anyway, the officer seemed moderately unconvinced that I might just be on a phone call with my friend. "No, Officer, I'm an actor from New York," I said, as I produced my ID, Equity Card and Days Inn key-card. "I'm doing a touring children's show about striking cows. See that big white van? That one's ours."

For future reference, pointing out an oversize, white, windowless van and telling a police officer that it belongs to you is a bad move.

Without actually asking to see the van, he grilled me on the details of our show, our travel itinerary and our past whereabouts. Where were we going? How long had we been on the road? And how was he so sure that I wasn't up to anything fishy? Finally, after as much sincerity as I could muster (and another close look at that Equity card; I guess union membership is good for more than health insurance), he decided I was OK, apologized for the interrogation and suggested that I head back to my hotel room for the night. I watched the SUV until it was sufficiently out of sight before scurrying back to the hotel, recounting a barely-intelligible version of the events to Aaron, and diving under the covers to go to sleep. Not sure if I mentioned this or not, but police officers have ALWAYS made me uneasy.

The next morning, Aaron and I recounted the tale to the rest of the cast, who laughed and laughed. At lunch, I learned that the vote was a close race among burglar, child molester and terrorist, with terrorist just barely edging out the other two. Because only terrorists have beards.

Call tomorrow: 7:50am, 108th and Amsterdam. We're back in the Northeast, y'all!