The other night, around 10:00, my son, Sam, needed to film his final school project. With a completed script in his mind, the three friends-based production crew included: Sam – director/actor, John – cameraman/actor and Tony – props supervisor/actor. They headed to their nearby location in our typical suburban area, so I was not the least bit worried. Imagine my surprise when, hours later, they bolted into the house.

“Mom! You are not going to believe what happened,” Sam puffed out. John and Tony were standing beside him.

Apparently, while they were filming, a police helicopter flew overhead with a bright searchlight flooding the area. This went on long enough to force them to stop. In our area, whenever we see a helicopter, it’s usually a bear sighting, which has become commonplace.

Eventually, the helicopter flew away. Then, a few minutes later, a police car turned onto their street and, upon spotting them, immediately sped up, and stopped only a few feet from their feet. The boys froze. One patrol car soon multiplied into six.

“We knew this was not good,” Sam said, adding commentary to the story.

The first officer approached the three boys huddled together and asked what they were doing there at that hour. Innocently, Sam told him that they were making an independent film and needed the city lights.

Really? Spielberg? Jaws? Dunnnn Dunnnn Dunnnn Dunnnn.

Or did they suspect them of being the legendary SNL Land Shark last seen in 1975?

The officer asked for their IDs.

“You showed them your real one, not the fake one, right?” I butted in, which was received with an eye roll.

Tony, who lived the farthest away was questioned. “What brings you way out here?”

“I’m helping Sam. We go to school together.”

At the same time, the other officers were looking through Sam’s car. At this point, my heart was racing as to what they might find in it.

The officers completed their due diligence. I’m grateful the officers were thorough.

“There was a burglary in a house around the corner about an hour ago,” they explained.

“That’s why the helicopters,” Sam said.

The officer nodded and asked if they had seen any suspicious activity.

“No,” Sam answered, at which point, they were told to leave the area.

Right about then, my other son, Jack, walked into our kitchen, just in time to hear the end of their fish story. With a wry grin, Jack said, “So you pulled off the perfect crime. I’m sure no one would suspect you, well, not if you were wearing that,” he said pointing to Tony.

I was thinking the same thing. Sam and John were dressed like normal twenty-year-old guys. But Tony was in a full-body, bright blue shark suit with an opening just large enough for his face to peek through.

“So, they were interrogating a shark?” I questioned.

“Yes.”

“Did they pat you down or ask you to take the shark head off?”

“Yes, but it’s all one piece, and I was just wearing underwear,” Tony said.

“That’s a whale of a tale! I’m sure the officers thought they had caught something all right. Lucky for you, they decided to throw it back! The perfect crime indeed.” I stopped, “Did you guys hear that? A knock at the door?”

The boys exchanged glances and nods.

“Who’s there?” I called out.

A strange, muffled voice answered, “Candy-gram.” It paused then, “Plumber.”

I gasped.

Dunnnn Dunnnn Dunnnn Dunnnn

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