The other day I was sent to a suspicious vehicle call in a residential neighborhood. The call said there was a man inside a red VW, who had been there for a few hours.

When I arrived, I saw a red VW Beatle parked along the curb. I ran the plate and learned it was registered out of the area. I got out of my car to look inside and was surprised to see a man sleeping.

He was stretched out in the backseat and hatchback area. He had a blanket covering him and he looked quite comfortable. I had no idea a VW Beatle had so much room. This couldn’t been a Volkswagen commercial.

Sleeping Beauty was in his mid-50s and at least 275lbs. I woke him up and told him the neighbors had called the police about the car and asked him where he lived. Tom said he lived at a half-way house not too far away from there.

“Why do you live at a half-way house?” I asked.

“It’s because I’m addicted to drugs,” he replied.

“When was the last time you did any drugs?”

“At noon. I went 50 days without doing meth, but I had a relapse today.”

I asked Tom if he could crawl to the front seat, thinking this was going to be an interesting feat on his part if he could do it. He started to go, but I wasn’t prepared for what I was going to see next.

He rolled over and tried to wiggle backwards toward the front seat. His shorts were hanging low in the back, partially exposing his rear end. I tried to shield my eyes from the half moon, but I was too slow and knew for sure I was going to have a nightmare that night.

At one point he got stuck between the seats with his ass in the air. It was like a horror movie, a flood and an alien invasion all rolled into one. As he paused to reevaluate his situation, I said, “Just say no to crack.”

Once he was finally in the driver seat we engaged in small talk about his drug use as I tried to forget the crack invasion I just experienced. That’s when he said something hilarious.

He told me, “I started smoking crack when I was 35 years old.”

Wow, I guess the phrase “Just say no to crack” didn’t mean much here.

Through small talk he told me he didn’t smoke crack anymore. He said he was strictly a meth user now. Thank goodness for that because he had enough to crack in his life.

“Do you have a meth pipe?”

“Yes, I do,” he relied.

“Where?”

The man then reached into the leg opening in his shorts toward his crotch. He dug around for a moment and pulled out a glass pipe. He held it up as he tried to hand it to me.

I looked at his crotch smelling meth pipe and said, “Um, let me get some gloves.”

When the day started I had no idea a butt crack Sleeping Beauty was going to pull a meth pipe from his crotch and hand it to me.

I guess I can cross that one off my bucket list.