After sprinting out of the downtown Menlo Park Wells Fargo Bank carrying bags stuffed to the brim with $100 bills, I spotted the getaway van tucked behind Penzeys Spices. With the bank alarms ringing behind me, I signaled to my partner-in-crime to hurriedly slide open the van door. Once I had loaded the van and ripped off my mask, we sped away.
Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted red and blue lights flashing in the rearview mirror: the police. I began to panic.
I looked over my shoulder to get a better view of the cop, but rather than seeing Menlo Park’s uniquely bougie Tesla patrol cars, I saw something else. Chasing us was not a formidable squadron car but instead Menlo Park’s very own e-bike division.
Pedaling furiously towards us, I could begin to make out their gleaming, chunky bike helmets.
This was it. We were done for. I waited for the officers to draw their guns and prepared to surrender, but the officers continued charging at us. Then, I realized that they couldn’t reach their guns. They couldn’t take their hands off the bike without crashing it.
As they rounded the corner, they became consumed by Hillview students on e-bikes aggressively swerving in and out of the bike lane. On cue, a middle schooler screaming about something called “rizz” veered his e-bike into one of the officers, knocking him over and causing an explosion of gold and white police stickers stowed away in the basket of the police bike.
Soon, the officers’ feeble blue and red lights had disappeared amongst the crowd of speeding middle schoolers, and we hurried away down Santa Cruz Ave.
Thanks to Menlo Park’s genius idea to invest taxpayer money in an elite e-bike squadron, I evaded law enforcement and escaped thousands richer.
