It was my last day in Germany. I was downtown busking with a friend I’d met. When it came time to go home to the apartment my parents had rented, I told him to take all the money, thinking I wouldn’t need it. Then I got on the bus, to go home. All summer long, I had bought a ticket and never seen an inspector. Since I had no money, I couldn’t buy a ticket. And don’t you know? There were some inspectors at the bus stop.
I tried to get off, but they would have none of it. They put me in the car and took me to the police station. There was no way in the world that I was going to have my parents come out to get me the last night in Germany. I had to see if there was some other way to get out of it.
I decided to play stupid American. I claimed I didn’t have any papers because I was camping in the Black Forest. If they would only take me up to my tent, I could give them the papers. Well, that was my theory. I didn’t speak any German, and I’m not sure how good their English was, but they didn’t seem to be satisfied with my story.
They sat me down in the lobby to the police station and told me to wait. I waited. And waited. Eventually, the lobby was empty. No policemen. I decided to make a run for it. I dashed out the doors and around the corner and ran through the empty streets. I walked the rest of the way home, taking the back way, and watching for cops the whole way.
I don’t know when I got home, and I don’t know if my parents were waiting or not. Probably not.
The next day we drove off to the airport, but I felt like I was a major fugitive, and that we might be stopped at any time by the manhunt out looking for me. Well, I didn’t really think there was a manhunt, but I was definitely worried. That worry lasted until our plane lifted off the runway—although, I have to say, I haven’t been back to Germany since.