Hello Officer, I am not a streetwalker...

Something about me:  I grew up taking dance classes .  Tap, jazz, and ballet mostly.  When I was a teenager, specifically 17 in this story, I was very serious about becoming a professional contemporary ballet dancer.  So during the year I would go to my regular dance school, and come Winter and Spring it was time to audition for summer dance programs.  Some were very selective and only took a number of students, so everyone was dressed in their finest tights and leotard for the auditions.  In my case, I auditioned for programs nationally.  And one summer, I ended up being accepted into a great program in San Francisco.

I grew up in the bay area, so San Francisco wasn't too far away.  But when you don't have a licence and have parents will full time jobs with opposite schedules, it's hard to hitch a ride Monday through Saturday for this program.

When I found out a dance peer of mine was going to the same program that year, I asked my parents that if we shared a room together, would they allow us to room and board at a nearby university along with other students in the same program.  Since my parents knew they wouldn't be roped into driving me anywhere, and also that they would be free of my shenanigans for 10 weeks, they agreed.

So before and after class, we would take a bus to either class or the dorms we were staying at.  The dance program staff encouraged us to dress warmly and cover up especially after class.  It was getting late, and also cold.  If you have ever been to SF, you know that July and August are not known for their "summer weather."  September-November, and March-May are the peaks of weather.  July and August are very damp and foggy.

After class one day, my dance partner and I were sweaty and exhausted from the long hours of dancing, and decided to just not care too much about bundling up.  So we were both wearing booty shorts over our leotards and tights, with our sweaters over one shoulder, and bag over the other.

What felt like .50 seconds, we hear sirens nearing us and we start covering our ears because it's getting so loud.   We then turn around to see what the fuss was all about, and we see to male officers walking straight toward me and my friend Lindsay.

Officer 1:  Let me see your ID!
Officer 2:  NOW LADIES!
Me and Lindsay:  what?!??!....
Officer 1:  I'm not going to ask you again, I need your IDs!
Me:  I don't have an ID!
(both my and Lindsay both have our hands in the air with our eyes like a deer in the headlights...)

noted:  What I should have said, was that I don't have a licence, not an ID.

Officer 1:  Put your hands on the vehicle, LEGS APART!

Officer 2 then starts giving us a pat down.

Officer 2:  They have no drugs on them!
Me:  I don't do drugs!
Lindsay:  Me neither!
Officer 2:  I WOULD ADVISE YOU TWO TO SHUT UP!
Officer 1:  Why the f*** are you dressed like that?  You know that hooking is illegal right????
Me:  Officer, I am not a streetwalker!
Lindsay:  Me neither!  We just dance!
Me:  Yeah, we dance!  We do ballet, that's why we are wearing tights!
Officer 1:  Why are you all sweaty?
Me:  We just got out class, I swear!
Officer 2:  Let's see them dance.
Me:  urrrrdrrrdrrrdrrdrr what?
(I am probably pissing myself in my tights)
Officer 1:  Let's see how talented you two are!
Lindsay:  Sarcastical girl, just start dancing!
Me:  OK!

We then both start doing who knows what probably flitting around like butterflies who look like they might have just done some coke.  We were both shaking afraid of being arrested.  My parents would probably never forgive me if they found out I was "hooking in SF with my friend."  Of course, that's what the officer would tell them, and they would probably believe him and not me.  Christ.

After what felt like an eternity, they both started clapping and I guessed believed that we were not 17 year old hookers.  I would like to believe that they thought we were talented, but I'm not asking for anything but mercy at this point.

Officer 2:  Where are you ladies heading?
Me:  We were going to take the bus to our dorm.
Officer 2:  I'll drive you both.  Sit in the back.
Me:  Ok.

I never again want to sit in the back of the cop car.  Although fascinating, it was scary and smelled like week old urine in a men's public bathroom at a train station.  I wanted to shower immediately.

Once we got back to our dorm, with just our luck, our dorm supervisor was standing outside (s**t) and looking at us like we are going to get a beating with her belt later.

Officer 2:  Ma'm, don't worry.  These two are not in trouble, I just gave them a ride home.
Dorm Supervisor:  Well thank you officer, that was very thoughtful.
Officer 2:  No worries.  And you two!  (referencing me and Lindsay) I never want to see you dressed like that again in the streets!

Lindsay and I bow our heads down and agree.  That was the f****** worst idea ever and it was not to be repeated.

Me:  I'm going to shower now.
Lindsay:  Me too.

Both of us ran to the nearest shower stall.  I can't speak for Lindsay, but I was there for about 30 mins scrubbing away the shame of looking like a hooker for the day.  I was crying too, but probably of relief that I didn't have to go to Juvi or that mom and dad weren't gonna get a call from SFPD.