Bad boys...bad boys...watcha gonna do...?

Sorry I’ve not written in a few days. I’ve been battling with the Chest Cold from Hell ™ and getting my butt kicked royally. It’s been terrible. I can’t sleep because as soon as my breathing gets a little bit deeper, I start coughing uncontrollably. I just spent the days in bed, trying to get some rest. Monday, I finally went to Sick Call and they gave me a nice cocktail of drugs to try. I can finally feeling it kick in today (Tuesday).

So, because of that, I don’t have a whole lot to write about. I did promise my story of being tracked down by Interpol.

For those that don’t know, Interpol is an International Police Organization that tracks down fugitives. They typically track down fugitives who flee into other countries or terrorists.

We got home from our all-nighter on Wednesday and Pat and Other Eric got something to eat at the hotel restaurant. I went to the room and hit the bed. About 10 minutes later, Pat walks in and says there are two cops at the front desk asking for me.

I asked him if it was cops from the base or Spanish cops. Pat said it was Spanish cops. I had no idea what it was about. I was racing in my mind to recall what we’d done the night before. None of it was illegal unless Spain has some new laws I’ve never heard of. So I got up, grabbed my wallet with my ID and walked down to the front desk. Sure enough, there are two armed Spanish cops at the desk, along with a hotel employee. I was starting to get a little worried.

The hotel employee told me that when we checked in, they submitted our names to the Interpol database and my name came up flagged. So the Spanish cops were here to check it out.

I looked at the sheet of paper that they brought with them and it had the name Erik Kristian Moyer, with a birthday in 1964 on it. I knew that wasn’t me so I took out my military ID and showed it to them. They looked at it, discussed it among themselves and set it back down. I was getting more worried.

The hotel employee told me they wanted another form of ID, so this time I took out my Ohio Driver’s license. They looked at this and nodded in agreement. They picked up my military ID and then motioned for me to turn around. I asked why. The hotel employee looked at me with a very serious face and said that I should do as I am told.

I got a little incredulous at this point. I mean, I’ve been up ALL night, just got into bed and they come in and get me out. I showed them my ID and I clearly wasn’t the one they were looking for. Why all the trouble? I motioned for the Spanish cops to look at my ID again and pointed out to them where my name was different from the guy they wanted, along with the birthday. They didn’t like that at all. The one closer to me grabbed me by the left shoulder and slammed me pretty hard against the wall and held my left arm behind my back. Then I felt the snap of the handcuffs on my left wrist. They grabbed my other arm and snapped the cuffs on my other wrist.

I was alternating between terrified and pissed, now. Terrified because I have no idea what is going on and pissed off for pretty much the same reason.

I was yelling out, at this point, that I was not the guy they wanted. There had been a mistake of some sort. I’d only been to Europe one time before and it was just for 1 day, 10 years ago.

It felt like I was in a Spanish episode of COPS. Police rough-housing with a suspect? Check. Suspect yelling out in pain? Check. Suspect yelling out that they had the wrong guy? Check. Lobby full of on-lookers? Check. The only things missing was I was wearing a t-shirt instead of a wife-beater and my common-law wife screaming at and attacking the cops.

Since I wasn’t going quietly, the Spanish cops felt the need to make a point. I felt my legs go out from below me and I was slammed down on the floor, chest first, with the side of my face hitting the floor, too.

I still didn’t know what is going on.

They proceed to try to drag me out the front door. Well, after waiting too darn long, my friends decided to get involved and try to stop them. I appreciated it but it probably wasn’t the right move. The cops are pulling on me from the front by the shoulders (since my hands are cuffed behind my back) and my friends have me by the legs. Each side pulling harder. The cops pulling my shoulders, my friends pulling my legs…kinda like I’m pulling yours right now. OK, most of that was made up

The beginning of the story was true though. The Spanish cops did show up because my name was flagged in the Interpol database. But after seeing my ID, they were convinced I wasn’t the one they were looking for and politely said goodbye.

I then turned around and went back to bed.

But if I told you that story, it wouldn’t have been terribly interesting, would it?