So, my wife somehow managed to crash the car again.
When the police arrived, she was pacing beside the damaged bumper, absolutely furious.
“That driver was completely reckless!” she insisted, pointing toward the other vehicle.
“He was on his phone! And can you believe he was drinking a beer at the same time, just sitting there like nothing had happened?”
I looked over and, sure enough, there was a man sitting inside the car with a phone resting on his lap and a beer in his hand.
The officer slowly took a breath, clearly struggling to keep a straight face.
Then he looked at my wife and said:
“Ma’am… you hit a parked car.”
The entire scene went silent.
My wife froze.
I was fighting with everything I had not to laugh.
The officer continued, barely keeping his composure.
“And the man you’re accusing? He’s a cardboard cutout we use for training.”
He wasn’t on his phone.
He wasn’t drinking.
He wasn’t even real.
My wife’s face turned bright red.
I had to bite my lip as she muttered, “Well… maybe he looked reckless.”
The officer finally cracked a small smile.
“Don’t worry, ma’am. You’d be surprised how often this happens.”
The drive home was probably the quietest one we’d ever had.
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