Chili Cheese Dogs and the 10:29 Bail-out

Sometimes in life, two events happen at two different times which are both completely unrelated, but one event sincerely exacerbates the other.

Steve, our boss, really liked going to Sonic for food during the day, especially if it was a slow day. His favorite food there is the Chili Cheese dog, or at least it used to be. On a day like any other, Steve bought a chili cheese dog to eat when he could, but throughout the day never had the chance. Finally, after he had picked most of us up, he was about ready to eat, but had one last stop to make. Taylor was making a sale at the house he was being picked up at, and needed Steve to step in and help to close the deal. Not trusting a van full of 5 other guys to leave his chili dog un-eaten, Steve took it with him and placed it a foot outside the entrance to the home. Nights in Missouri were much like the days, very humid and hot, but the difference at night was the amount of bugs and creatures all around. Steve was only in the house five minutes when he came outside and grabbed his chili dog and sat back into the van to eat it. To his surprise, at least a dozen slimy, sticky slugs had crawled their way onto the warm and intriguing chili dog container. Steve flung the door open and threw the chili dog, still in its warm tin foil Sonic wrapper, into the air, sending several of the bugs flying. Steve picked a slug or two off his shirt, then proceeded to remove the gummy, disgusting slugs off his dinner.

“It’s still alright to eat, isn’t it?” Steve asked inquiringly. “None of the slugs got inside… it’s not like they ate through the wrapper…” Steve inspected his chili dog and its combined wrapper for a moment and shrugged it off. “Should be fine.” We all encouraged him it probably would be, not wanting to see such precious food go to waste. Taylor exited the home shortly there after, and as we made the trip back home, Steve wolfed down his chili dog, assuming Sonic had taken the care to ensure their packaging would prevent bug contamination or any other problems.

About 12 hours later, we began knocking doors in a new town…Raytown. Eventually Raytown would earn such nicknames as Sucktown, Helltown, Dumbtown, and any other negative adjective with “town” tacked on the end. Sales were made, people were pleasant, but due to the lack of “real” crimes being committed in this neighborhood, Raytown police officers seemed to have nothing to do with themselves but hassle visitors and door-to-door salesmen, like ourselves. After I had finally made one sale that day, I went to the street to try my luck with some neighbors, only to receive a text from Steve.

“Stop knocking. Cops r arresting ppl.”

Having been warned this might happen by some of the upper management of the company who had recruited us, I immediately stopped and sat on the curb to await further instructions. I called Chet to make sure he had got the message as well, but he wasn’t answering. At the time I assumed he was probably in a sale, making another call, or otherwise busy. I waited around at least half an hour before Steve finally showed up with nearly all our team in the van. “Chet got arrested!” I looked at him, still not quite believing exactly what was being said. He couldn’t be serious…could he? I asked Steve exactly what he meant and sure enough, Chet used his one phone call to let Steve know he had been arrested for selling goods, door-to-door, without a valid permit. Steve had been told we should stop knocking or we would be arrested, and apparently Steve took a little too long to get the message out to everyone.

Suddenly my train of thought was cut short to the sound of someone vomiting violently just feet away. I looked to the victim to see Steve, hunched over with a puddle of vomit at least 6 feet in diameter at his feet. Everyone jumped back in disgust as we all immediately knew the cause of the sudden food poisoning—the chili-slug dog.

Moments later the other team arrived in their van. Steve needed to go bail Chet out so we could get back to work the next day. But another look at Steve to see him curled up on the ground, clutching his stomach revealed he was in no shape to drive. I dragged him into the backseat, and while everyone else piled into the other van to go home I set our GPS to the Raytown police station. I drove leisurely at first, thinking it was only 8:30 pm and that I had plenty of time to get to the station, have Steve bail Chet out, and make it home for an early dinner. As I pulled into the station, Steve jumped out of the van’s sliding door quickly to vomit in the nearby bushes, and I parked the van and walked Steve inside to bail Chet out. Steve presented his credit card, to which the bail officer stated: We don’t take those here. A debit card was then produced, with the same result. I asked the clearly overweight, butch police woman what we could use to bail out our friend, to which the response came…

“Cash only.”

“What are you, a drug dealer?” I asked, clearly upset.

The police woman replied some very crude and hasty words back to me, many of which I didn’t think a police officer, or even a woman should be saying, so we walked out to the parking lot, dejected, with a new plan. Steve suggested we find the nearest ATM, and luckily our GPS guided us all the way. By the time I arrived at the nearby gas station, Steve was so sick he offered to lie on the grass and wait for me to get back from bailing Chet out. I admit I was tempted to take up his offer, but this would have to wait. Steve gave me his debit and credit card to take inside and withdraw cash, but after trying several attempts with both his cards, a lack of funds and the inability to get a cash advance left me leaving the store empty handed. Steve was still lying on the grass about 10 feet away from where the van was parked, a pool of vomit steadily growing nearby, and I realized I had to act fast. Looking at my phone, the time was 9:30…and the bail office closed at 10:30.

I quickly grabbed Steve and threw his limp body back into the van. I punched in our home address…I had left my debit card at our apartment for fear of being mugged or robbed. Apparently more people knock on doors illegally in Raytown than get mugged or robbed…45 minutes to our apartment. Another 45 minutes back put me at the lockup at 11 pm. I threw the van into gear and gunned it onto the highway. I knew the car was a rental so I wasn’t too worried about pushing it a little hard. Once my speed hit 110 I figured that might be enough to get there and back in time.

Sometime after hitting the halfway point and between swerving between cars on the highway, I realized Chet had the only key to our apartment. We had never foreseen a problem like this, but I knew I had no choice but to hope we had left the door unlocked. Steve sounded like he was losing it in the back seat, so I pushed the van to 120 mph. I never knew mini-vans could even go this fast! I arrived at our apartment at about 9:58 pm. Now was the moment of importance…was our door locked? I told Steve to get out, wanting to drop the dead weight to make it back faster, and I rushed up the stairs.

A flood of adrenaline hit as I reached for the doorknob, only to find it locked tight. A wave of nausea replaced the adrenaline as my mind raced. I had always wanted to do this…I took one two steps back, then took a running start for the door, my foot connected and the door flew open quite easily. Realizing the energy I put into the kick was a little much, I rushed into our dwelling and located my debit card in seconds. Back down the stairs, Steve was just barely crawling his way out of the van, so I dragged him to safety and sped over to the nearest gas station. After pulling enough money to bail Chet out, I again jumped onto the highway and sped back to Raytown. Down the highway once again, 165 pounds lighter, I knew I could make it.

Finally I arrived back in Raytown at 10:29 pm. One minute later and Chet would be spending the night in the county jail. I walked in with my $250 and asked for Chet Boyce. Luckily a different woman was manning the desk.

As Chet walked out, I saw the police officer who was escorting him…turns out it was the same one who had arrested him. The guy was no taller than 5’ 1”, and my youngest brother could have easily beaten him in a fight.

Things turned out alright, luckily. Firstline decided to pay me back for having to bail Chet out, so I got my $250 back. After Chet’s charges were dropped, they gave him the bail money back I originally put in. Firstline really dropped the ball on that one, but at least we came out $250 ahead.