Investigation of Crime Rates- part 1

As an detective, I'm always looking into things, making sure people are abiding by laws, and trying to find ways to make the United States a better country to live in. So when I heard that many places had a lower crime rate, of course I had to investigate it, to find out their secrets.

So I decided to start my trip by flying outside of the country. Of course, since this is all a dream inside of my head, I flew in my private jet, with handsome flight attendants serving me Toblerone and Orange Julius. I told the pilot I wanted to begin my quest in Narnia, but he just laughed. I suggested that he drop me off in England and I could find my way to Narnia from there, but he just rolled his eyes and kept going what I was certain was the wrong way.

Eventually we landed, despite my pilot's incompetence to find anything I wanted him to. The pilot, of course, promptly ran off somewhere. He claimed he was going to do some sightseeing, but I suspect that he was getting away from me because he knew that we had landed in the wrong place, and he wanted to escape before I could discover that we weren't in Narnia or the United Kingdom.

Naturally, in order to continue my investigation, I needed transportation. I rented a little car which the rental company promised would run just fine. I had my doubts, because the car was of a model which was at least twice as old as me, but the employees assured me that the man who owned it before the rental company had recently put a new engine in it. It seemed to run fine, so I thanked them and went on my way.

I wasn't sure where I was, though I suspected it was somewhere between the North Pole and Antarctica. Perhaps I should have brought a map with me, or paid attention in those first grade geography classes. Interestingly enough, the speed limits seemed rather different as well. They seemed to encourage me to drive faster than what most people (save for those maniacs on the freeway, and people who have just hit a patch of black ice at the precise moment their steering and brakes give out) would drive back in the United States. The signs said things like '80 km'. Naturally the 'm' stood for miles, and the 'k' stood for a word I was unfamiliar with, but obviously translated to something like 'per hour'.

I didn't want to get in trouble for driving 20 or 30 miles below the speed limit, so I headed down the road at 80 miles per hour, the world rushing past me. Despite this, however, everyone else seemed to be going far slower than the speed limit, and would often shake their heads, yell at me, or scream and swerve out of my way. Even more confusing, I soon saw a police car heading toward me, and it seemed they wanted me to stop. I didn't know what I was doing wrong, but of course, this was a perfect opportunity to find out more about differing crime rates in countries. I pulled over and grabbed my notepad and pencil, then waited for the policeman so I could ask him a few questions. I watched as he got out, rummaged though his car, and soon began walking toward me, looking unhappy. As I examined the car and the police officer, I began to wonder about some of the things these police officers carried in their vehicles and on their person. One of them looked an awful lot like... a MACHINE GUN!

Looking back on it now, it's quite possible that I was mistaken, especially since I was exhausted from traveling and may have been hallucinating. But at the time, I didn't want to wait and find out if it was just an optical illusion. Fearing what laws I may have broken, or if these were actually mass murderers disguised as law enforcement, I quickly stomped on the gas pedal to make my getaway.