Officer Kevin O’Malley was having a terrible Tuesday. First, he spilled coffee on his crisp, clean uniform. Then, his donut order was messed up (who orders jelly-filled WITHOUT jelly?). But the cherry on top of his awful sundae? A call about a “wreck involving… a monkey?”
“Dispatch, you’re sure?” Kevin asked, adjusting his rearview mirror. “A monkey?”
“Affirmative, Officer O’Malley. Witness claims a chimpanzee is somehow involved in a vehicular accident on Elm Street. And… possibly driving?”
Kevin sighed. “Possibly driving? Great.” He flipped on the sirens, bracing himself for the bizarre. He arrived to find… well, a mess. A beat-up ice cream truck was embedded in a tree, its once cheerful melody now a mournful, distorted wail. Standing beside it, looking bewildered, was a small, agitated monkey wearing a tiny, ill-fitting Hawaiian shirt.
“Sir,” Kevin said to the chimp, pointing to the wreckage. “Did you do this?”
The monkey chattered back, grabbed a half-eaten banana peel from the truck’s dashboard, and hurled it at a nearby squirrel. The squirrel, understandably offended, chattered back.
Suddenly, a disheveled man in a stained apron ran up, yelling, “Coco! Coco, you naughty boy! I told you not to touch the keys!” He grabbed the monkey, now identified as Coco, and turned to Kevin, mortified. “Officer, I am so, so sorry. I left him alone for one minute! He’s fascinated with the ignition.”
Kevin rubbed his temples. “Sir, do you have insurance for Coco’s… driving skills?”
The man shook his head. “Just liability. But the good news is he paid for the gas he wrecked the ice cream truck in. He was going ape!”
