Cops like me now

I was drinking in Williamsburg, always a masochistic move for anyone that is tired of the way hipsters have consumed certain parts of Brooklyn. I know that it is EXTREMELY tired to complain about hipsters. They are a part of life in this city, like train delays and urine on the sidewalk. It shouldn't be a problem if some art school dropout wants to dress like a moron, my personal fashion history isn't exactly above reproach, but what always gets me is how their numbers seem to double each summer, like some kind of vermin that doesn't have a natural predator. (Potential natural predators for hipsters will be discussed in a later blog entry. Please send ideas for things we can introduce into the ecosystem)
In any case, I grew weary of the place I was drinking in, its suffocating crowd of effete, bearded jagoffs and girls with a limited understanding of their own potential to create body odor. I decided to head home.
I stopped for a pack of cigarettes and ran up the stairway to the entrance of the Marcy Ave J station, only to find that I had no fare on my metrocard. The train was pulling in and there was no way to buy a fare at this entrance, and it was a full-sized turnstyle (unhop-able).
People unfamiliar with NY transit may not know that there is an emergency door at every subway exit now. Someone from each arriving train invariably uses it to get out because they are carrying things or turnstyles are too pedestrian for them. This sets off an alarm that I am certain the MTA designed to make token booth clerks retire and avoid the fights with the union over laying them off.
Anyhow, I was pissed at missing the train so I decided to balance the universe out by waiting until someone used that emergency door, and going in behind them.
Now...I used to live by this stop. Well, my sister did and I lived on her couch, but that's another tale for another day. Point is, I knew there was a transit cop booth right there by that entrance. At least I knew that on every day that I DIDN'T try to beat a fare.
Three chubby, white cops amble out of it, the booth is so small they would have had to really like each other to all hang out in there, but cops making out isn't as funny as I think it is.
"hey buddy, hold up" the first says.
"ok, you got me" I know when I am got. I could outrun cops in my prime, but never did cause I was just as big a puss then as now.
They do the casual surrounding bit, in case I change my mind. I hand over my license.
"why'd you do that?" one asks, finding my well planned out crime hilarious.
I explained my bitterness over not having a fare. Because I like to sound mature and responsible for my actions.
I explained that my license was from NJ because I lived there for a bit and changed it over to take the police exam, which is true. One asked "why not NYPD?" I explained that I have no college credits, a requirement in NYC but not Jersey City.
Maybe this would get them to feel bad for me. I am a man too ignorant for the NYPD.

Then the radio check comes back. Apparently a man with my name has attempted murder warrants in NJ. For a few seconds, my heart stops and I see all the ways in which my life is about to change. I try to think what qualities I would appreciate in a man who would own me until one of us dies or pays our debt to society.
Then it's determined that man is of a different race. They then get a call of someone menacing passengers on a train farther down the J line. I am let go and half-heartedly admonished to buy a fare next time. They didn't even make me go abck out and buy a metrocard. Basically I rode for free and got a free background check.
Had I been a brother, this would have gone down about nine kinds of different. But I took advantage anyway, didn't I? Makes me feel dirty. Well, dirtier