Laura was standing next to me. Tears were dripping onto her blouse. I whispered to her, “You’re just a hitchhiker I picked up…”

“I don’t care about me. It’s you…”

“Hey!” A young officer waved his flashlight through the night. His nameplate identified him as Officer Gunn. “No talking, you two.”

I should have been scared, but I would be lying to you (for dramatic purposes) if I said I was. I can’t explain it, maybe it was my inner Reacher. More likely it was because I had been in several equally serious situations and somehow managed to get out of them, but rather than wasting time feeling sorry for myself or worrying about the consequences, I was already churning out possible solutions.

After a lot of back-and-forth on their radios, Laura was put into the back of a squad car. And me? Their problem was how to transport me and Mighty Chair. Have I mentioned there are certain advantages to being disabled and that I am not above exploiting them? Rather than lifting me into a squad car the sergeant decided to put me in Van’s rear compartment. “Can you drive this thing?” the sergeant asked patrolman Gunn.

“’Course I can,” he responded confidently. “Anything’s got wheels, I can drive it.” They tied my wrists to Mighty Chair’s arm using plastic cables. I didn’t bother introducing them to Cher. I don’t think she would have approved.

They spent several minutes trying to figure out how to get me into Van. Finally they loosened my right hand and I rolled up the ramp. But even at this moment, with everything going on, the thought of what was about to happen amused me.

While I was locking myself down in the back, Gunn opened the driver’s side door and climbed in. It was only after he was in the driver’s well that he realized there was no driver’s seat. He looked around, as if one might suddenly materialize. He frowned, trying to figure out what to do. He knew there had to be a solution, but as hard as he concentrated, the answer eluded him. He didn’t want to embarrass himself by asking one of the senior officers, who had put him in this predicament. He finally reached what probably seemed to him to be the only logical conclusion: he would have to drive standing up.

If my hands weren’t tied down, if I hadn’t been under arrest in the back of Van, if Laura hadn’t thrown my phone away, I would have started taping this. This definitely would have been a highlight on America’s Funniest Home Videos.

Gunn steadied his feet and grabbed ahold of the steering wheel with both hands. He inhaled deeply for courage, both shoulders rising in determination. He carefully avoided touching any of the gizmos mounted on the wheel, having no idea what they might be for, then squatted down into a sitting position and turned on the engine.

He took another apprehensive breath, then released the emergency brake. He put Van in reverse and then … and then he was completely stymied. If he sat on his haunches, his foot couldn’t reach the accelerator. He thought about that, then glanced over his shoulder at me. I smiled and waved one tied-down hand from my wrist. I think my disdain made him even more determined to figure it out. There was only one option: He balanced himself on his left foot while stretching his right foot forward until he reached the accelerator, looking very much like he was performing a slow-motion Kazatsky, the famed Cossack sitting dance.