A Sunday night adventure.


This is an actual entry from my journal dated November 29, 1987.

It all started with a phone call one evening from my friend Ian. He was at home, extremely bored. After asking my parents if I could go, I went over to his house where he asked me to go pick up Steve, another friend of his. After picking Steve up from his house, we went back to Ian’s house, where we laughed as we clowned around, listening to heavy metal music and having a great time. We also messed around with a pair of toy handcuffs while pretending we were security guards. In a playful mood I picked up the handcuffs and cuffed  my right wrist. Then I was shocked to learn that Ian didn’t even have the keys to the handcuffs!

We messed around a little more, and then, in an attempt to get the handcuffs off, I tightened them by mistake. Now was the time to get them off! They were really squeezing my wrist, so we all went to the garage and Ian tried to get the cuffs off with whatever tools were within reach. Hammer, center punch, drill and saw, nothing worked. The handcuffs only got tighter around my right wrist.

Then I had made the suggestion that if everything failed, we could go over to the police station but I intended that as a joke. They actually took that idea seriously and decided that was the next thing to do. I was very hesitant about going and after listening to pleas such as “You’ll have to keep this on for 7 days a week” and “People at school will be asking you why you have the cuffs on,” I finally accepted and we all jumped in my car where I drove to the Juno Beach police station to get some help. Closed. Next we tried the County Courthouse. Closed. By this time my cuffed hand was getting numb.

Then we went to the Palm Beach Gardens police station. We saw a cop walking across the parking lot and I caught his attention. Then the cop did something unbelievable – he actually asked me for my ID to make sure that I was not “an escaped convict.” Hey, these were toy handcuffs from a novelty store, and the cop’s keys were much smaller than the lock on the cuffs.

Anyway, after producing my ID and proving that I was not a fugitive, the cop tried to remove the cuffs but he failed, so he asked a fellow cop for some help. This other cop said he could remove them, and as he worked, I could feel them get looser but they were still dangling from my wrist. He couldn’t get the cuffs off, so they sent me to the lobby and we sat waiting for the police chief. He came up to us, checked the cuffs and said, “We’ll need to cut these off.” Then he left and returned with a bolt cutter, and with a snip, the cuffs fell to the floor. I thanked them and we threw the cuffs away. After dropping my friends off at their houses, I drove home.

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