Believe it or not, this is not a dream. This really happened to me last night, at 8pm, as I exited the Wal-Mart parking lot. Crazy shit happens at Wal-Mart. This is a That's some crazy shit story.

I walked briskly to the cream-colored Dodge Caravan, borrowed from my roommate while my Jeep was inoperable. I cradled a new battery for the Wrangler, which I had just purchased and had the receipt to prove it. I placed it gently in the passenger seat and walked around to the other side. I noticed a LV Metro police cruiser making its way slowly down the parking lot. I thought nothing of it, hopped in the driver's seat and put the key in the ignition. Just as I was flipping on the headlamps, the police car drove past in front of me. I saw him looking directly at me before I turned the lights on, shining directly into his eyes.

Looking back, I suppose blinding a police officer, even if not on purpose, could be construed as a suspicious act, but at the time nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

What I had thought would be a pleasant drive home, new battery in hand and the prospect of finally having my own vehicle back bringing a smile to face, was shattered by the red and blue strobes that reflected from the rear view mirror as I approached the edge of the parking lot. I said to myself, Self, WTF?. I shut down the engine and rolled down the window.

The officer pulled in close behind me and got out of his cruiser. He made a wide arc around, instead of coming up just along side the van as one might expect in a routine traffic stop. Stopping about 8 feet away, he kept his right hand hovering above his gun, and the other on the radio attached to his shoulder.

Put your hands out the window so I can see them.

I did as commanded. His eyes opened a little wider as he saw my black gloves. It was chilly out.

What are you doing?

Leaving Wal-Mart, which seemed obvious.

Step out of the vehicle, sir.

It was clear that this was not a routine traffic stop, so without sudden movements and while keeping my hands visible at all times, I got out of the van. The officer looked me over and began a quiet conversation with his radio. I heard snippets: white van; five-eight, five-nine; suspect.

Did they say anything about black gloves or a hoodie? he asked into his shoulder. I did not hear the reply.

Could you go stand in front of my car, please.

The officer followed me, and when I reached the car he said, Face the car, and put your hands behind your back, like you're praying. I chuckled and told him him that I don't pray with my hands behind my back. Innocent people can afford to be humorous in these situations. At least I hoped so. The officer said nothing as he put handcuffs on me and laced my fingers together-- which apparently helps prevent escape, something I did not put to the test.

As officer #1 was patting me down-- he juggled my balls!-- another patrol car pulled along side us. Officer #1 found my wallet and asked if he could get my ID from it. Sure, just don't take my cash.

He took my ID into his car and did whatever it is policemen do when they take IDs to their car. There was a lot of chattering on the radio. Officer #2 came over and asked me what I was doing there. I just bought a battery in Wal-Mart because the one in my Jeep is dead. You can find it in the van.

He glanced at the plates on the van. Are you from Oregon?

No, I'm from Nevada. I've lived here 8 years. The van is my roommate's. He's from Oregon. I borrowed it to get the battery for my Jeep.

Mind if I search the van?

I had nothing to hide, and I hoped Ed, the roommate, had no weapons stored in the van. No, go ahead.

Anything I should know about in there?

No, but my camera is in my backpack. It'd be cool if you could take a photo of me in handcuffs in front of this police car so I can show it to my friends.

He laughed and said he couldn't do that.

He rummaged around in the van for five minutes or so, during which time three other patrol cars pulled up all at once. My little encounter had also drawn the attention of Wal-Mart parking lot security, who had been circling around nearby, rubbernecking like everyone else driving to and from the shopping center. I smiled at them all. The three stragglers ambled over towards me and Officer #1 got out of his car, with my ID, and walked over to them. I couldn't overhear their little pow-wow, and neither could Old Man I've-got-nothing-better-to-do-than-be-nosy Wal-Mart security. His curiosity finally got the better of him and he parked himself beside the cruisers and joined their little circle.

The officer searching the van finished up, and walked over to me and yelled over to Officer #1, Can we let him go now?

Officer #1 turned around and said Yeah, he's obviously the wrong guy.

Obviously.

I was uncuffed and handed my ID. Officer #1 patted me on the shoulder. Sorry about that.

Oh, it's OK, I know you're just doing your job. I just wish we could've gotten a photo. So what was this all about?

The policeman who searched the van finally explained, There was a home invasion in the area that involved a gun.

I am certainly not an armed robber, but I felt kind of proud that it might take five policeman (and a septuagenarian security guard) to subdue me. I enjoyed the whole thing, knowing I was innocent and would eventually be released. I really would have liked that photo, though.

It is curious, however, that if Officer #1 already knew I wasn't the guy when he was having his conversation with the late arrivals, why did I remain in handcuffs? Why were these five guys, or at least the three who did absolutely nothing but show up, not chasing down the real perp as soon as they realized my case was just one of mistaken identity?

Dammit! I wish I'd gotten that photo.