The Takedown Of Jesse Zakshesky

The fact that I'm even writing this article is ironic when you take into account that I literally was bragging last night about how I've never been pulled over once. Ever.

It's hilarious how 12 hours can drastically shrink the size of your testicles.

Today, at 12:20pm, I was driving on John Nolen Drive en route to a meeting I had to attend at 12:30. The speed limit was 30mph (which I still think is too slow for that stretch of road, but whatever) and I was doing my normal +5 over the limit. I wasn't in a huge hurry, and at my current rate would have had ample time to park and walk to my destination. 

That was until I got behind "Nanna."

Nanna felt that it was completely acceptable to go 25mph behind a bus that itself was taking its own damn time. I understand that people in their elderly years are a little more careful and can be scared to pass large vehicles. I accept that. However, I'm NOT elderly, and I simply cannot justify going BELOW the speed limit for any considerable amount of time. Pictured below is a gifted artist's replication of the situation that I faced on this fateful day:

Not a dramatization.

So after I performed the maneuver depicted by the red arrows, a move that I will now refer to as "Left Red Shift," I thought my annoying 5 second experience was over.

Wrong.

Once I got by both Nanna and the bus, I glanced over to my right side mirror, admiring the noobs that I just passed. After relishing in what I accomplished, my field of vision redirected itself back to the 2 O'Clock position, where something else caught my eyes: A police officer with a radar gun. 

At this point I figured I was screwed, but for about 2 minutes I didn't see any police cruisers following me...until Broom Street. Once I got in the left turn lane, Officer "Warren" got a hold of me. I knew I was caught, so once I turned left, I figured it was time to concede and promptly pulled off at Bedford and awaited Warren's wrath. Warren and his comrade clocked me at 45mph in a 30 Zone, but apparently Warren and I "bonded" because he felt pity on my soul. Since I didn't act like a douche, and because my record was clean until this point, he only recorded me at +10. I was only docked 3 points on my license, and the ticket is only $88. I honestly really liked Warren, until he noticed when my birthday is and made the following comment:

Officer Warren: "Jesse, I see it is your birthday in a few days, so I'm gonna let you off a little easy so you can have more cash to party, or whatever it is you do with your money."

Warren, how about this? On May 31st, I'll give you a call, and you can come to the bars with me where you'll see me and my friends probably intoxicated beyond comprehension. You and I will then do a few shots, all on your tab of course. That's where you'll see "what I do with my money." Maybe afterwards you can give me a ride back to my apartment. Sounds like an absolutely marvelous night to me.

Honestly, I am looking at this experience with a smile. Nobody got hurt, Warren wasn't a "complete" ass, and I got off pretty easy. Quite frankly, the 88 dollars MORE than pays for all the shenanigans I have pulled in the past, such as street racing, allowing people in my back seat to drink, and perpetually speeding in school zones. 

I'm a somewhat changed man.

Warren's Favorite Show

Last Sunday: The day I almost burned my house down

I typically go home on Sundays for 3 reasons:

1. I can't cook
2. I love football
3. My parents are pretty tight

My parents made a delicious steak dinner, and after experiencing #1 and #2 on the above list, I decided that I would be "the good son" and offer to do some dishes while they left to run some errands. Doing dishes, as annoying as it may be, really isn't that bad of a chore, however, I really wanted to watch football (actually, I just wanted to see Chad Ochocinco and Cedric "Crack Rock" Benson), and decided instead to do a half-assed job. With my hurry to get back to watching that game, instead of soaking the pan with hot water which is normal protocol, I thought it would be beneficial to put a little water in the pan and place it on my stove over high heat. 

In retrospect, this wasn't the wisest choice.

Not only did I make that mistake, I also really had to go to the bathroom, and left the kitchen for about 5 minutes.

This mistake just got A LOT worse.

After "doing what I had to do" in the bathroom, I hear what sounds like an EKG machine going haywire. I open the bathroom door to see the house that I spent the last 7 years of my life under a cloud of smoke. After my internal thoughts filled with vulgarities, I somehow remembered my 4th grade fire safety seminar tips (which is surprising because back then, I usually fell asleep, or launched spit wads at girls who I thought had cooties) which told me to smother the fire with baking soda. After I find our baking soda, I rip open the box and quickly pour it over the fire. Looking back on it however, I poured that baking soda A LITTLE TOO QUICK because I got it all over me. Covered in white powder, I thankfully put out the fire. That wasn't the end of my problems though. My next step was to get rid of the smoke, and quite frankly, I was eager to do it before my parents got home. "Adults" normally don't burn down houses, so I really wanted to avoid that fun discussion. Unfortunately for me, as I was swiftly opening doors and windows, my dad walks in, sees a roomful of smoke, and his kid covered in white powder.

Dad: "Jesse, we were gone for 30 minutes, what happened?"

Jesse: "Nothing much, just almost burned the house down, no big deal."

If you ever want me to cook for you, or to do your housework, let me know.