Please Don't Tell Anybody/University District/Sat Aug 25/10 pm: After a wonderful barbecue thrown by The Stranger's former film editor Andy Spletzer, this message, which appeared to have been sent to the wrong number, unexpectedly came to life on his answering machine: "Hi, uh, Danny? You're looking for Sarah. This is Christina from the boat. She did leave early. Uh. There was something going on and she, uh, took off. And the reason why I'm calling back to tell you is because she kind of didn't tell us--there was a personal problem going on between her and another person on the boat. I happen to know what's going on and she, uh, went and left. PLEASE DON'T TELL ANYBODY. We're really sor--I'm really sorry. My name's Christina. You can put the blame on me, but she just wanted to leave. Something happened, and she just wanted to take her personal business and leave, and I said, 'Okay.' So I covered for her. They just told me that someone was looking for her and I wanted to let you know that she's okay but she went home. So she's at home--she's supposed to be at home, call her at home. If you want to call here and ask for Christina only, go right ahead, and I'll tell you kind of like what happened. This is the Skansonia, the number that you just called. Thanks a lot, and I didn't mean to be rude."
What Do Mexicans Speak?/Downtown/Sat Aug 25/ 1:30 am: This bizarre exchange occurred at a bus stop in front of Benaroya Hall, which had just held a performance of Bach's magnificent Brandenburg Concerto no. 5. and Vivaldi's La Tempesta di Mare. "So you speak Vietnamese?" asks an American to a Mexican, who's engaged in a merry Spanish conversation with other Mexicans. "No, just Mexican and American," says the Mexican with some pride in his bilingual prowess. "How about Chinese? Taiwanese? Or Korean? You speak Korean?" the American asks, as he looks at a flashing number on the glowing screen of his vibrating cell phone. "No, no, I speak just Mexican and American. Why do you want me to speak another language?" the Mexican asks with mounting concern. "How about Japanese? You speak Japanese?" the American obstinately asks. Sensing that the American's questions are leading up to an American crime, the Mexican prudently returns to a more stable and productive Spanish conversation with his Mexican friends, whose voices have now lowered a bit, and mirth entirely diminished. With a frustrated look on his face, the American punches a longish number into his tiny Nokia and leaves the troubled bus stop with the cell to his ear.
The Real Confessions of a Happy Dope Addict/Capitol Hill/Mon Aug 27/6 pm: This crime was related directly to Police Beat in a new wine bar that just opened on Pike. "I was in my apartment when I received a phone call from a friend who offered to sell me marijuana. I agreed to buy it. Approximately two hours later, the friend came into my apartment and gave me a bag of marijuana worth $25. We then sampled the drug; it was marijuana of a marvelous variety. But then I realized I did not have the $25 I owed him, so we walked to a cash machine. I withdrew the $25, gave it to him, and we proceeded to a bar where I bought him a glass of red wine."
