Chips and Consequences

One warm September afternoon‌, Jake walked to the student car lot with his teammates after another blistering two-hour football practice in the blazing sun. Their banter was lively and carefree, and they laughed and joked and teased each other about the things all high school boys do, like who were the hottest girls, who had the fastest cars, and what sports teams were the best, but not necessarily in that order. 

Suddenly, wailing sirens and screeching tires shredded the air as police cars skidded to a stop at the curb, lights flashing in a frenetic flurry of red and blue chaos. 

A half-dozen uniformed police officers jumped out and approached the group of startled teenagers, guns drawn, commands sharp. “Freeze!” they shouted. “Hands in the air!”

The boys looked at each other, alarmed and confused, and their hands shot skyward.

“Which one of you is Jake Salsa?” asked an officer who appeared to be in charge. He wielded a black gun, terrifying and large, with a muzzle the size of a cannon. 

Jake’s stomach clenched, and his throat tightened. “That’s me,” he stammered. “How can I help you, officer…” — he looked at his nametag — “Officer Taggert?” He forced a nervous smile. “Can I get you tickets for our home game next Friday?” 

His friends, their hands still high in the air, snickered. Just like Jake to deescalate a situation with a little humor. Jake was a level-headed, clear-thinking person who followed the rules and playbook with precision, which made him such an excellent quarterback for the team. He was no troublemaker. So why was he being singled out by the cops?

Officer Taggert frowned. “This is no joke, young man. This is deadly serious. I need to search your backpack. Please lay it on the ground and step back.”

“Hey wait, wait, what’s this all about, sir?” Jake protested. This bag is my personal property. You can’t search it without a warrant. I don’t have any weed or drugs or anything. There’s nothing illegal here.”

“We have probable cause to search. Please do as I ask,” said the officer. “I’ll explain it shortly.” He motioned to Jake’s companions nearby, “Okay, boys, you can lower your hands. You are free to go.” They walked a few yards away and stopped to watch what would become of their schoolmate.

Jake dropped his backpack onto the hot pavement, the weight of dread settling in his gut like a brick. A second officer —“Brown,” according to his nametag — stepped forward and patted him down, his hands firm and experienced. Brown removed his phone and car keys from his pockets, then pulled his arms behind his back and handcuffed him. “Sorry to do this, but it’s only while we search your backpack.” 

Officer Taggert pulled on latex gloves, unzipped the backpack and removed the contents: a laptop and charger, a couple of textbooks, a water bottle, a pack of gum, and a crumpled Doritos bag with a few chips inside. 

He turned the Doritos bag over in his hands and inspected it closely, his brow furrowed. He shook his head and motioned the other officers over to look. “What do you think?” he asked. 

They consulted in a huddle as Jake waited anxiously a few yards away, his hands chafing under the shackles. After a few moments of talk and nervous laughs, the officers, save Taggert, Brown, and a female officer with the nametag of Taylor, got in their patrol cars and drove away. Officer Brown released the handcuffs from Jake’s wrists.

“What was all that?” Jake demanded as he rubbed his wrists to regain feeling. “I’ve never been arrested before; why did you cuff me? This had better be good.”

Officer Taggert cleared his throat and smiled weakly. “I’m sorry, son, but we had to exercise all precautions and follow protocol. I’ll explain what happened, but you’re not going to believe it.”  

“Try me,” snapped Jake. “I can’t believe you arrested me for doing nothing. Does this have to do with those stupid new AI cameras that are always spying on us? 

“Well, yes, perhaps.  The school’s security system identified an item in your backpack as a gun, and we were dispatched to check it out.” 

“Right,” said Jake, “so you gotta make sure some crazy kid doesn’t start shooting up the school and killing people and stuff. But why did you have to come in all cowboy, yelling and pointing your guns at us like we’re terrorists or criminals? We’re just high school students, football players. I’ve never owned a gun, never shot one. How can you guys mistake something in my backpack for a gun? 

“It was a false positive,” Officer Taggert replied. “I know you’re upset, and I’m really sorry. Apparently the camera saw the Doritos bag as a gun shape and triggered the alarm, no pun intended. We will report this to the school and security company and recommend deactivation of the system until they fix it.” He rolled his eyes. “So much for smart cameras.”

Jake ran his fingers absently through his hair as the gravity of the moment struck him. “Man, oh man, this is crazy. It happened so fast. I can’t believe I could have been shot dead for having a half-empty bag of tortilla chips.”

He took a few calming breaths to lower his pulse and felt the tension in his body fade. He looked Taggert in the eyes and extended his hand. “No hard feelings, you’re only doing your job.” As Officer Taggert grasped his hand in a firm shake, a flicker of amusement crossed Jake’s face. “Thanks for not shooting me before you searched my bag. I prefer non-lethal, lead-free air conditioning.”

Officer Taggert chuckled at the quip. “Haha, that’s funny. I’m glad you can find some humor in this. Thanks for your cooperation and understanding. I know that was stressful.” He placed a business card in Jake’s hand. “You’re free to go. Call me if you have questions. Have a great day.” 

Officer Taggert turned to leave with officers Brown and Taylor, then looked back at Jake. “Oh, and watch out for those Doritos bags,” he deadpanned with a wink. “I hear they can be dangerous.” 

“Will do,” Jake said with a wave of his hand, as he watched the police officers get into their cars and drive away.  

Jake joined his friends, who high-fived and slapped him on the back and teased him mercilessly about being a wanted criminal — the “Dorito Bandito” — all in good-natured fun, of course.

A few minutes later as Jake drove home, he reflected on his recent brush with the law and contemplated what would soon come. Tomorrow at school was going to be epic, and he planned to enjoy his newfound notoriety for all it was worth. 

Is there a moral to this story, a truth to be discovered, a lesson to be learned? There isn’t one, really. Except perhaps that artificial intelligence — no matter how advanced and smart it may be — isn’t perfect, and it can make mistakes, potentially deadly ones. Because sometimes, what looks like a threat might merely be a half-eaten, crumpled bag of chips.