Back when I was living on my own for the first time, I convinced one of my high school buddies to move out of his parents’ house in the suburbs and into my Wicker Park apartment. We moved his stuff in on a Friday afternoon and went out that night to celebrate, hitting a bunch of bars starting here, then checking out the other bars around North, Milwaukee, and Damen. We got kicked out of the last one around four and were headed home when we decided to play football in the street. We were throwing the ball back and forth when we were surrounded by a group of thugs. A scuffle started, but then an unmarked police car pulled up and everyone scattered, leaving just me and my roommate. The cops were like, “What the hell are you guys up to? Where do you live?” I pointed to our apartment and the police said, “Well, go there right now.” In my drunken state I decided to toss the football back to my friend, who proceeded to catch it with a diving roll across the hood of the police car. Without hesitation the cops cuffed him, threw him in the back, and drove off. To be continued . . .
–Rob Wheelhouse, mortgage banker