An occasion I will never forget:

2006/7. Ex and I are hosting a Guitar Hero party in our small suburban apartment. A good 10 or so people show up and it gets loud. Cops are called. Ex informs the cops that his father is Respected Detective My Dad, and they say, “oh, great, wonderful, just try to keep it down now, have a nice night!”

Cut to an hour or two later, everyone’s drunker and the Guitar Hero is louder. Cops come back. Ex answers the door to the same cops as before. Before he opens his mouth, cop goes, “we don’t care who your dad is. Get these people out of here.”

Funniest fucking thing ever until everyone actually had to leave. But then it got better once the cops left and we discovered that all the underage people (we were all 20-22) had simply hid on the balcony undetected. They popped into the living room and we took celebratory tequila shots.

I’ll never forget the ex being taken down like that, though. He got away with so much shit because of his dad’s job. More on that in an upcoming essay in a few days.